Ardeur de la Vie
by Cackling Grackle
Summary: Something big has just happened in the world of the nations. Canada sees it as a problem, but Prussia sees it as an opportunity. Rated T for eventual violence and Prussia's language. No actual pairings, but you can pretend if you want :D
1. Intro

**Arduer de la Vie**

~o~

**Introduction**

One Morning

~ o ~

_One morning, a boy woke up and he saw a brand new world._

_One morning, a boy ran through the grass, played in the mountains, swam in the lakes and spoke with the animals._

_One morning, a boy laughed with the snow, sang with the sun and cried with the rain._

_One morning, a boy was discovered and he was given a name._

_One morning, a boy was taken away._

_One morning, a boy met a brother and fought to keep him at his side._

_One morning, a boy left his family and he fought his own battles._

_One morning, a boy became one of the most powerful men in the world._

_One morning, a man fought his brother and won._

_One morning, a man fought in wars begun by others._

_One morning, a man kept peace and lived with it forever at his side._

_One morning, a man had a son._

_One morning, a man told his son all the secrets to the world and told him he was destined for greatness._

_One morning a son believed._

_One morning, a son left his father and took a brother with him._

_One morning, the brothers became one and turned on their father._

_One morning, a man was attacked._

_And one morning, a man fought back._

* * *

><p>First Fanfic eva!<p>

The characters will probably be off and updates will be few and far apart but I'll try and I shall finish this thing! You can count on it. Just be patient.

God I love Canada. After all, I am Canadian, eh?

P.S. This is just an intro, other chapters will be longer and not all Author's notes will be this long. I hope.


	2. Chapter 1: Fractured Light

**Chapter 1**

Fracturé la Lumière

~ o ~

Canada ran down the abandoned hallway, papers flying out behind him in his frenzied attempt to get to the meeting on time. He was used to being late, but that didn't mean it was something he wanted; he was used to the burning in his lungs at every breath he took, but that didn't mean it should be there. Despite being a nation, he was having difficulty getting a single breath in, but he managed, and with a polar bear at his heels he ran as fast as he could.

Glancing at his watch, the Canadian groaned. The meeting was scheduled to begin half an hour ago. The smart thing to do would be to slow down and hope to get in unnoticed; after all he was going to be late no matter what. But Canada mind was occupied with other, more pressing matters, so instead, he kept going at the current pace and hoped they would understand after he explained it to them.

He could see the large door to the meeting room just up ahead and at the sight of it he put on another burst of speed. His feet pounded the ground with such enormous strength, despite his weakened state, that the floor nearly dented. Soon enough, Canada's hand closed around the fancy brass doorknob and he flung open the door.

The door hit the wall with a loud bang causing all of the nations to turn in either curiosity or, in some cases, annoyance. Their gazes were met with the sight of the blonde Canadian leaning against the doorframe, clutching his chest as he attempted to catch his breath.

The nations said nothing as he regained his breath and straightened up. He looked out at the confused faces and realized they had probably forgotten him. Again. Not surprising considering that they never really remembered him to begin with. Damn. He should have put that to good use and snuck in instead of barging in like that. Sighing deeply, Canada stooped to picked up his bear, turned to the other nations and said, quite simply: "Canada."

Realization dawned on all of their faces as most of them began to recognize the nation before them. For some reason, Canada felt the need to explain his tardiness to the others. "Sorry I'm late," he said between gasps, "There was… my boss… a meeting."

England nodded tersely from across the room. "No need to explain… Canada." he scolded, "Just sit down." Canada nodded in response before the others promptly lost interest and turned back at Japan who was apparently supposed to be giving a presentation.

France beckoned Canada over and patted the empty seat next to him in a silent invitation. Canada complied and sat down. He placed his manila folder on the table in front of him, frowning slightly at how much thinner it was then when he had left the hotel, and attempted to pay attention. This, however, proved to be next to impossible.

Japan's voice was so monotonous it was beginning to make him sleepy and they had been over all of this before. So instead, Canada looked around the room at the other nations, most of which were paying no attention whatsoever. Prussia and Spain were muttering to one another, snickering periodically, while Germany sent angry glances at them. They didn't appear to notice. America was staring daggers at the back of Russia's head while Russia sat smiling at nothing in particular. The Baltics were sitting nearby, of course, Latvia shivering next to Russia, Estonia next to him and Lithuania at the end, nodding patiently at whatever it was Poland was whispering to him. Greece of course was sound asleep, snoring gently. The others simply talked quietly, doodled or stared at nothing. A few did pay attention of course: England, Germany, and a few others, but not many. How did they ever get anything done?

He continued to observe his fellow countries to take his mind off his current issues, but soon his eyelids began to droop from lack of sleep and the effort he expended trying to get there remotely on time. No sooner then he had reached his hotel room and thrown his things onto the bed then he had had to set off again for the meeting. Already ten minutes late.

Two hours before his flight was scheduled to leave, Canada had been called into an emergency meeting that lasted just over an hour and a half. This of course had caused him to miss his flight and he had been forced to wait six more hours for the next flight, which was then delayed due to an unexpected snowstorm.

But no matter how hard he tried, Canada just couldn't get the meeting out of his mind. He would probably never forget that moment when he had signed the paper presented to him in the company of his Prime Minister. Never forget the insistent burning in his lungs that appeared soon after his boss had added his own signature to the ones already present. The burning he felt now.

It was starting to get worse too, as though every breath he took was laced with fire. He knew it was bound to happen eventually, but why now, when his economy was struggling, did it actually have to happen? Canada was beginning to feel slightly light headed form the lack of air and each breath was more difficult then the last. He couldn't let the other nations see him struggling; they would only want to know what had happened at that dreadful meeting. But then again, they would find out eventually anyways. No. No, he couldn't let them see him so weak.

Canada pulled his hands into white knuckled fists in an attempt to keep his breathing under control. Focused on that and nothing else. But he was fighting a losing battle and now that the paper was signed there would be no going back. He would simply have to endure the pain that came with his government's decision.

"Canada?" Canada turned to see England standing beside him looking worried. He must have walked over while Canada had been distracted. "Are you alright?"

Japan must have noticed the disruption, for his voice fell silent as he turned to watch with curiosity. The other nations followed his gaze and watched with their own expressions, ranging from worry to confusion (who was this guy?). Russia, of course, still had the ghost of a smile on his face, but that didn't really mean much in terms of how he felt at the disruption.

Canada glanced at each face in turn. This sudden attention was making him feel even more uncomfortable, he just wasn't used to it. He paused briefly, his eyes caught by Prussia's. From across the table he could see he was clearly concerned no matter how much he tried to hide it. His gaze went back to England. He looked quite expectant and slightly annoyed at the interruption, but Canada could still see the worry behind all that.

"Matthew," he vaguely heard England behind the pounding in his ears, "What's wrong?" He sounded so far away.

Canada had to respond, tell him he was okay, but somehow he couldn't form the words, couldn't even breath. His mouth felt dry despite the lack of air and his lungs seemed to close up. The edges of his vision were beginning to darken as he stared blankly at the other nation. Finally it became too much: the faces, the burning, the way his vision was clouding over. He had to get out. Before the transaction was complete, before something much, much worse happened.

To the surprise of everyone, instead of answering England, Canada bolted for the door, tripping momentarily on the leg of the chair next to him, catching himself and finally running through the doorway and leaving it open behind him. There was absolute silence.

All eyes were trained on the door, unable to comprehend what had just happened. England straightened up after a moment and turned to the other nations. He cleared his throat, "Well, I suppose we'll have to postpone this meeting to another day. How does Monday next week sound?" There were sounds of agreement from the rest of the countries, who were still watching the door, and they began to collect their things with little conversation passing between them.

No one noticed the brief discussion between Canada's family. No one noticed as France found the forgotten folder on the table and flipped through it. The surprise on his face at what he found within and the way he hid it in his own folder. And certainly no one noticed the impression in the snow outside the building where a person had fallen mere moments ago. And if they did, they simply forgot.

~ o ~

Prussia had been having a terrible day. First He had woken up with a killer hangover, then West had burst in shouting about something or other, succeeding in making the headache worse, and then he had been forced to attend the World Meeting for the soul purpose of bugging his brother (yes it had been necessary). This, coupled with the fact that he was disappearing, was enough to give him an awful day and a crippling headache.

He had begun to disappear just over a year ago and, not wanting his awesome image to be threatened, he had told no one. One day people had just begun to… forget. It had begun with his citizens; they had long since stopped referring to him as East Germany and instead referred to the country as a whole, not two separate places. They began to forget their heritage, their history and began to learn new ones instead, of his younger brother. Sure they still mentioned him in the history textbooks, but not once did they actually regret his demise.

Okay, he had to admit, the Berlin Wall had been a bad idea, and maybe his economy was more stable now that it was merged with West's, but he didn't appreciate how it had affected him. And now even the nations were forgetting about him. Very few people actually noticed when he walked up behind them now, Germany, France, Spain and that other guy, you know the one. The others simply ignored him on the pretense that he was no longer a real nation, so no longer held any power.

Now, if he wanted attention, he had to shout and wave his arms in front of someone's face (not really but it was close enough). He now played more pranks then ever. West had always said he was an attention hog, but now he had good reason.

He needed to know he was still there, that he could still be seen.

He probably shouldn't have let it get to him so much, but he couldn't help it, especially because of the effect it was having on him. Prussia's left foot had begun to go numb about a year ago, not entirely numb, but the feeling had definitely been dulled, and the numbness had been coming and going ever since. Some days worse then others. Whenever the numbness would come, his foot would also become slightly transparent. Not enough to actually see through, but just enough to be difficult to focus on, so that his gaze would slide off it. On bad days he would usually make up some excuse to just stay in bed or on the couch, depending on where he had woken up.

That day, however, his foot had been fine, easy to see and feel and it had given him hope that maybe, just maybe he wouldn't disappear entirely. No such luck. Only a few minutes after arriving at the meeting had the numbness returned, and not only that, but it had spread to his knee. Unable to walk without limping, Prussia had been forced to remain seated and worry about this new development in silence.

It was all he could think about, that if it had spread, how much longer did he have until the rest of him was the same, numb and next to invisible? Maybe he would be lucky and stay a few more centuries, difficult to see, but still there. Or maybe he would disappear entirely off the face of the planet, leaving not a trace that he was ever there to begin with, only a memory. It had happened before, Ancient Rome, Germania, Ancient Greece, and Ancient Egypt. Who knew what had happened to them. One day they simply just… disappeared. There had been no fading or numbness for them that he knew of, but then again, they hadn't been absorbed into another country. Not many were. All he knew was that he certainly didn't want that happening to him. He just had to make himself more noticeable.

There was one other though, a boy, who was never noticed, never remembered. The one with the pancakes and maple syrup. He was always forgotten and yet there he was always there at every meeting, still whole, still alive despite the other nations never taking notice of him. What had he been called? Canada. Maybe he could have asked him for some help; after all he was nearly as awesome as Prussia himself.

Something tugged at Prussia's thoughts, a memory of the meeting. Canada had run away. Something had been wrong with him, which much was clear from his pale face and shallow breathing. He had been clenching his fists pretty tightly too as though he had been in pain. What had happened to him? He must have been scared, what other reason could be given for the way he bolted without answering Eyebrows. He had to admit, it had scared him a bit. Canada, who was usually so quiet and unremarkable, suddenly so… different. Frightening. It had definitely scared him.

And there had been a moment when England was waiting for him to answer his question, when he had looked at the others. At him. Their eyes had locked, if only for a moment, but it had been enough to see the pain he was holding in. Something had been majorly wrong, and he was going to find out what it was. But how?

Gilbert pondered over this as he sat on the soft window seat in his hotel room, massaging the feeling back into his calf and foot. It had gotten a bit better, enough to walk without his limp being noticeable, but it still felt strange.

A shout from the adjoining room caught Gilberts attention. It sounded like Ludwig. Prussia sat for a moment listening closely. Then came the shout he had been expecting. "East!" A wolfish grin spread across his face and he snickered quietly. Gilbert stood and walked the short distance to the door that joined the two rooms. The numbness in his leg and foot had disappeared.

~ o ~

France's nimble fingers flipped through his phonebook, searching for a name. He paused for a moment before recalling the name he had been searching for and began his efforts again.

Only a few moments ago he had been looking through his meeting folder to find some notes he had taken on the need for disaster supplies. Instead of the wanted notes he had discovered a second folder hidden within his own. On the edge it said "Matthew Williams, Canada." It had taken him a moment to remember who this was, but as soon as he did, he also recalled an occurrence with said nation on the day of the meeting. And promptly remembered the contents of the folder he held.

Finding the number he had been searching for, Francis picked up his cell phone and dialed the number. He really should add his former colony to speed dial, it would be so much simpler, but somehow he kept forgetting.

As the phone rang, he strolled over to the balcony of his hotel, folders in hand, and looked out over the city, shivering slightly at the winter chill. Switzerland's mountains off in the distance were a beautiful backdrop to the city splayed before him. Bern was quite nice.

A quiet voice on the phone jolted France from his reverie. "Hello?"

"Ah, bonjour Mathieu! Comment ca-va? J'espere que vous vous sentez mieux?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. After a moment France began to suspect Canada had hung up, until he heard a very soft voice say, "P-pardon? Sorry, I didn't quite catch what you said."

"I said, 'Are you feeling better'."

"Oh! Yes, Papa, much better. Thank you."

"You left in such a hurry you forgot your folder. But do not worry, mon cher, I picked it up for you."

"Thank you. I'll swing by and pick it up later."

"No need, I shall just give it to you on Monday."

"Monday? Why, what's Monday?"

"Oh, did l'Amerique not tell you? The meeting has been moved to Monday."

"B-because of me?"

"Oui, but do not worry, I understand completely! I saw your notes. C'est fantastique! When were you planning on telling us, mon petit?"

"YOU READ MY NOTES!"

His voice was so loud Francis was forced to hold the phone away from his ear. He didn't know Matthew could speak so loudly, his voice didn't usually rise above a whisper. He brought the phone back to his ear only to be met with silence. A sigh could be heard.

"I suppose it was going to come out eventually. I was planning on making the announcement at the end of the meeting, but I guess it's too late now."

A muffled voice could be heard on the other end and Francis could guess who it was. He strained his ears, but try as he might, Francis just couldn't make it out. "Not now." That was Matthew's voice, slightly quieter, probably talking to the mysterious voice. "I'm busy… No… I'm not sure… I can't give you any more… No, I just-… Please… I told you, I can't…"

France listened in on the one-sided conversation for a while before losing interest. He realized there was no way for him to know what the conversation was about unless he asked Matthew and that wasn't going to happen, so instead he focused on something else. He began to examine his perfect nails. Hm, they could use a bit of a trim. Did he have any clippers? He thought he had a pair of nail clippers in his bag, but he might have forgotten them when he left Paris. Perhaps he could-

"Papa?" He had completely forgotten about Matthew.

"Yes?"

"I have to go. Some government issues, but I'll see you on Monday."

"Oui, I shall see you then. Au revoir!"

"Oh, and… please don't tell anyone."

France paused for a moment as he considered the request. "…My lips are sealed."

There was a click and a dial tone when the Canadian hung up. France hung up his phone and just looked at it for a moment, as though it could answer his questions, before replacing it in his pocket. Why would Canada want to hide his news? People were going to find out soon enough and it would probably be on the news anyways. It wasn't every day something like this happened. Ah well, not for him to decide. Now, to find those nail clippers.

~ o ~

It was Monday and that meant it was time for the World Meeting. The meeting was scheduled to begin in ten minutes and the meeting room was already filled with nations talking, laughing and eating from the buffet table. Most of them were gathered in groups, discussing different things ranging from political to personal. The Bad Touch Trio was already gathered on the far side of the room, no doubt recounting old stories or telling new ones. Spain was currently telling a story about Romano and the other two were holding their stomachs, laughing. Romano glared at them from his spot next to the buffet table.

England sat in a chair on the other side of the food table, observing the others without really taking part in their socializing. He was far too busy watching for a certain North-American blonde. Not America, but the other one. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since he had run out of the last meeting and he definitely had some explaining to do.

America had said he couldn't get through to Canada when he tried to call, but he had probably just forgotten. When he had questioned France, he had said the boy had gone back to Canada, but should be back for the meeting. If that was true, then where was he?

Five minutes passed and there was still no sign of the Canadian. He was usually so punctual aside from the occasional sleep-in or snowstorm, so he should have been there by then. Yes, he had a lot of explaining to do. Starting with him running out in the middle of the meeting. What astonished England the most was his lack of manners, after all hadn't he spent decades drilling them into the boy's head? Yes. So there was no excuse for it.

Although, there had seemed to be something wrong with him, his face had been so pale, paler then usual anyways. And he seemed to be having trouble breathing. Well, he could always ask him about it. If he ever showed up.

He sat for a while more, taking in all the conversations around him, until the older North-American brother, America came over. After hours in the car with him, insisting that they stop at every fast-food joint they passed and complaining constantly about his never-ending boredom, England really wasn't in the mood for any more "bonding".

He emerged from the crowd and walked purposefully up to the Brit, who rolled his eyes when America pulled up a chair next to him and sat down. They sat for a moment in silence, England watching the crowd and America leaning back lazily, tapping the heel of his foot. At each tap the man beside him twitched slightly.

After a moment of this the tapping stopped as America slowly grew bored of silence. He glanced at the other and then scooted his chair as close to England's as possible. He glanced around before leaning his head in close, still watching the crowd, and then whispered, "Hey Iggy, wachyah lookin' at?"

All this time the other's anger had been steadily rising until he was sure his head would burst. The question didn't really help much.

England suddenly stood up, sending his chair flying back into the wall. He turned abruptly and leaned into America, hands resting on the American's chair arms. "Why can't you be mature for one second of your life?" he growled. America didn't respond. He was too shocked at the older nation's seemingly sudden shift in moods. England waited for a response and seeing none forthcoming, stood up straight and walked away muttering curses under his breath.

It only took a second before his former colony was out of his own chair and walking after him. "Hey, Iggy. I'm sorry. Whatever it was I'll never do it again."

England stopped and turned on him, looking somewhat resigned, and sighed. "It wasn't you, Alfred, it's your blasted brother."

America looked confused for a moment before he remembered who that was. "Mattie? What did he do?"

"Did you not see him last week? Running out without offering so much as an explanation for his behavior? And now he's going to be bloody late, again!" His voice has risen to almost a shout and garnered the attention of most inhabitants of the room, all pausing mid-conversation to see what the shouting was about.

"Ummmm, Iggy? I get the feeling your kinda stressed about something."

England sighed. He should have guessed America's short attentions span plus his natural thick-headedness would make him fairly oblivious to the issues involving Canada. He admitted, he never really paid much attention to the lad either, but Matthew was just so… forgettable.

"Maybe I'm talking to the wrong person," England muttered. "But I'm getting a bit worried about Matthew. He's never been very involved, but these past few meetings he hasn't said a word. He's been so distracted and distant. And that last meeting was - for lack of anything better to say – frightening."

France walked up next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Mon petit Mathieu's outburst was nothing to be concerned about, he was simply reacting to a change in government is all. A simple side-effect."

"Wait, you know what's happening? Why didn't you say something, and save me all the worrying?"

France shrugged and simply said, "He asked me not to say anything."

"Bloody hell, Francis! I'm his brother! I raised him! I think deserve to know if something is bloody well happening to him, especially if he's having such a bad reaction!"

"Well, if you're going to be so snooty about it then perhaps I will keep it to myself."

"S-snooty? What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean you wanker? Just tell me!"

"Mmm… Non."

"Why not?"

"Because you are being quite rude. Ask me politely and maybe I will tell you what is happening with Mathieu." In truth, France was simply enjoying making England angry, and there was the added joy of having the whole room's attention on him as well.

England was about to let free another burst of insults and possibly some threats as well, but at the possibility of learning what France was keeping from him, he kept himself in check. "F-fine. Please, would you tell me what Matthew told you?"

"Very well, if you insist, mon cher."

England sighed in relief that the other nation was finally cooperating. He smiled tightly and said, "Thank you. So, what's happening?"

France smiled at the change in attitude and from there, proceeded to consider his options. He could tell them right there and then and take pleasure in their reactions. He could keep his promise to Canada and redirect the conversation, which actually wouldn't be that hard. He could be evasive and let them guess, that could be fun. Or not. Or, he could drag it out and enjoy the attention while it lasted. Yes. Yes, definitely the last one.

He stood for a moment, his hand rubbing his chin as though trying to remember something. He looked at the ceiling to look like he was thinking hard, but in truth he was really enjoying the way all eyes were on him and not a single nation spoke for fear of missing whatever he said, lest it be important. It was quite fun.

His eyes flickered down to watch their anticipation. Instead he found an irritated Brit and a few bemused expressions. Many had actually lost focus and were snacking on food from the buffet table. What the hell. Well, this wasn't what he wanted. He scowled slightly at this, but it was quickly replaced by a coy smile. He advanced on the irate Englishman and stepping very close he whispered, "Perhaps you should beg some more, mon cher. I find it quite amusing."

"What the bloody f*ck!" Everyone turned back to the pair, their interest renewed. "You don't even know do you. You have no idea what is going on! Do you!"

France put on a look of hurt that was not entirely false and made his way slowly to the table where his papers sat as he spoke. "Mon cher, you damage me with your words. Of course mon petite did not tell me what was going on, but this," France tapped the folder next to his own. "Did."

England looked from France to the folder and back again as he hesitantly made his way over to the table. He glanced down at the folder and, seeing Canada's name on it, looked back up at the Frenchman curiously. His hand hovered over the folder. But instead of picking it up he pulled back his hand.

"No," He said quietly. "If he had something important to say he would have said it."

"But l'Angleterre-."

"I'm probably just overreacting. It's probably nothing." He sighed and turned to the other nations who were watching him carefully. "Sorry about that everyone. Come on. Let's start this meeting, with or without him."

He turned back to France as the others made their way to their seats. "Keep an eye on the door, will you?" He said. "And if Matthew comes in, let me know. I need to talk with him."

France nodded silently and sat down in his own seat dejectedly.

"Feel better now, Iggy?" England jumped at the sound of America's voice. He had completely forgotten about him.

"Er- yes, I should think so. Although I can't help but wonder why he did run of like that."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"I would if he ever bloody well showed up."

A quiet sound at the door drew their attention. It would have gone unnoticed had America not turned toward it. All eyes turned to see Canada standing in the doorway; cheeks still red from the bitter winds outside. His hair was dusted in a light coating of snow, as was his jacket, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

"Sorry we're late, but we got caught in the storm on the way here."

"Well at least you finally made it. Take a seat and- wait. We?" England asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot." He walked back into the hall and beckoned someone over. "Jean, they're waiting. Come on."

A figure walked over and everyone was astonished to see a boy who looked just like Canada. He was lead over to the door by the arm and into the view of the whole room.

"Everybody." Said Canada. "I'd like to introduce Jean Pierre, Quebec."

* * *

><p>AN

First Chappie! Sorry about the characters/style of writing. I'm still gettin used to the characters and all.

Not all chapters will be as prompt as this one was and not all of them will have French titles. I have a plan for the titles. (add evil laugh here)

Just keep faith with me and hope for the best. I know I am! God I wish I'd made this chapter longer then nine pages.


	3. Chapter 2: Children Lost and Forgotten

**Chapter 2**

Gamins Oubliés et Égarés

At first glance, the two men in the doorway looked almost exactly the same, not in the same way that Canada and America did, but more exact. But upon closer inspection, Prussia could see some major differences. For one thing, Quebec looked to be a year or two younger then the Canadian at his side, making him slightly shorter and giving his face a more childish quality to it.

Quebec had hair the same length as Canada, but while Canada's was blonde his was closer to a pale sandy brown. It also appeared to be wavier - which could have been the French influence if you wanted to believe France – and lacked the curl that most associated with Matthew. His eyes were also different. Jean's eyes were a chilling blue when observed in the direct light and looked more violet when seen in the shadows. The changing colour was eerie and somehow much too old and experienced for that young face.

He had a scowl on his lips, giving the impression that he really didn't want to be there. That as well as the aura of unfriendliness he was giving off. Somehow, Prussia didn't think he liked the countries present very much. In fact, he often found him glaring at either England or France. Interesting.

He removed his beige jacket – probably borrowed from Canada – to reveal a slim figure dressed in fairly fashionable clothes. He had on dark blue slacks that matched his slim tie. With the tie he wore a collared white shirt and a light-blue vest with white pinstripes and a pin over his heart that showed a flag, probably his own. He seemed to be dressing in colours to match said flag, which happened to be blue and white.

What gave Prussia the strongest impression, for some reason, were the light-brown, leather shoes that adorned his feet. They were incredibly stylish, looked very comfortable and were probably brand new. And terribly expensive. He had no idea why he noticed them so much, he just did.

They all stood silently for a moment as everyone realized what this meant: a new country. England appeared to be the first to realize this because he was the first to act. He took a step forward and extended a hand to the new nation.

"How do you do?"

The statement seemed simple enough, nothing fancy or complex and it was extremely neutral. So there was no reason for what Quebec did next.

First his eyes narrowed and the scowl became more pronounced. He began to emit an ominous aura that made England falter and withdraw his hand slightly.

"Filthy English pig." He mumbled.

England looked taken aback at this and opened his mouth to say something, but all he could get out was simply: "E-excuse me?"

"You heard me." He said slightly louder. "You filthy Anglo _batard_." His accent was clearly some sort of French, not Persian French, but French none-the-less, and as his voice grew louder, his accent became more prominent, making it difficult to make out what he was saying.

Canada stepped forward then and placed a hand on Quebec's shoulder. "Quebec, we talked about this." He whispered.

"Non!" Quebec turned suddenly and yanked his arm out of the other's grasp. "This pig is the reason I had to leave. Him and his _l'influence d'Anglais. C'est de sa faute!"_

"Jean, p-please don't start this again." Canada was beginning to look frightened and though he tried to hide it, his stutter gave him away.

"_Je ferai tout ce que je veux faire_! _Tu n'est_ pas _le patron de moi_!"

France stepped forward to come to Canada's aid. "_Québec, s'il te plait_. _Ne pas etre tellement en colere. Je m'appelle France, ton-."_

"I know who you are!" Quebec turned and gave him such a vicious look that France took a few steps back. "You're that man who gave me away, centuries ago, to become…" He paused, searching for the word and unable to find it he simply waved his hand toward Canada and spat out, "That! And now look at me! Small and weak. But no more! I shall tower over you. Get back the life you denied me so long ago and become the biggest, strongest Nation in the world! And for once, you can't stop me."

"Jean?" Quebec turned to see Canada cowering in the doorway, looking like he really didn't want to get involved. "It's not his fault. You know that."

Quebec stopped for a moment. He just stood there and stared at Canada. Then he advanced on him, grabbed the collar of his shirt, shoved him against the wall and began to shout again with renewed vigor. "Of course you would take his side! You're so weak and pathetic I don't know how you survive! Why did you have to be the one that everyone saw? The one people paid attention to? The one who stayed behind while I disappeared into the shadows, unnoticed by everyone?"

Canada put his hand on Quebec's, which was still gripping his shirt, and managed to gasp out one thing. "I noticed you."

There was absolute silence. No one dared to breathe. The tension between the two was so great as they stared at one another, like looking into a mirror, that not even Prussia dared to interfere. Fights often occurred at the meetings, but never one like this.

Finally somebody stepped in. Fortunately he made Quebec let go of Canada. Unfortunately, it was America.

He walked right up to the pair, grabbed the Francophone by the back of his vest and pulled him off his brother. There he let him go.

"Listen John-."

"Jean."

"Whatever. You can shout at Iggy and beat on France all you want, but you mess with my little bro and you're dead meat."

Quebec snorted and smirked. "Don't you get it you American pig? I'm your little brother too."

"What? Well whatever. All I'm sayin' is that if you think you can mess with Mattie, you got another think comin'!"

"It's 'another thing' not 'another think' you idiot."

"Oh yeah? Well – You – Guh – Shut up!"

At this point Germany finally decided to step in. "Stop!" Every pair of eyes turned to look at him. "I believe we have a meeting to get on with. So stop your fighting and sit down!"

Most of the countries obeyed, used to the German's habit of taking over the meeting, but Quebec simply stood by the door, refusing to budge. "? Please take a seat."

Quebec looked at Germany and wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I don't take orders." The two stood and stared each other down, angry blue to taunting violet.

"Kol kol kol kol kol." Prussia's eyes widened slightly at the familiar chant and slowly he turned to find Russia getting up from his seat, his eyes promising pain, his aura deadly, but that childish smile was still on his face. Evidently he had grown tired of the newest nation's behavior.

He advanced on said country and stood very close to Quebec, towering over him, and said, "I think you'd better take a seat, da?"

Quebec stood, staring into the menacing eyes of the taller nation, arms crossed in front of him. After a moment he dropped his arms and looked away. "_Merde_." Then he crossed the room and took a seat across from Prussia and next to Canada. Russia smiled wider.

Germany thanked Russia and then proceeded with the meeting. Prussia watched Quebec with mild interest. That had been a part of Birdie? Sh*t. Why had these deep hatreds never surfaced before? Had he actually thought these things before or were these completely new? Who could tell. All Prussia knew was that he already had his own deep hatred for the little guy.

He continued to watch them as the meeting progressed. They simply sat there watching the presentations and jotting down notes every now and again. The only thing Prussia thought was note-worthy was when they both flinched as Russia walked past them and back to his own seat. Interesting.

Eventually he lost interest. Took his eyes off the two and turned them to his paper where he had doodled some birds. He glanced up briefly at the others to find them discussing the current issues in the Middle East and possible solutions. Boring. America was having a heated discussion with England over what sending in giant robots would do to help. Dull.

He turned to look out the window. The sky was white with clouds and a wind had picked up, bending the bare branches of the tree.

He sighed and stretched his legs out under the table. His foot and shin were numb again and it was making him irritable. Prussia had been pulling pranks and picking fights just for the sake of feeling his foot again, but each time it took more effort and the result didn't last quite as long. He was disappearing, no doubt about it, and, from the looks of things, there wasn't anything he could do to reverse the process. Unless he wanted to start a war, but that was out of the question. But what other option was there?

A noise interrupted the Prussian's thoughts. He turned to see Canada bending over slightly and clutching his stomach, teeth gritted and eyes shut tight. Quebec was watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. Canada opened one eye and turned it to glare at the Quebecois, who simply shrugged and grinned evilly.

What the f*ck? Something was going on, he could tell, and Prussia decided right then and there that he would get to the bottom of it. First thing would be to create a distraction to get rid of the new nation, he could work from there. But now that he thought about it Canada didn't really look himself that day.

Canada really didn't look very well at all actually; his skin was pastier then usual and if Prussia was right his hair seemed different. Not as in a different hairstyle, but it seemed naturally straighter then it had before. Although he could be wrong, after all, Prussia never did pay much attention to the kid. And neither did anyone else.

He tried the best he could to pay attention to the young nation and even grace his home with his awesome self every now and again in return for some pancakes, but he had his moments of forgetting. Not all the time like most of the others, but every now and again he would forget his face, his name or country and it bugged him. Not that he forgot, but that Canada didn't seem to care. He was used to it and that just wasn't right.

Even now as the meeting began, no one took notice of the Canadian and he didn't seem to care. They had all forgotten already.

The meeting continued to its usual standard with nothing getting done and small arguments breaking out between the usual fighters. By the time it ended, Canada's stomach pains had subsided and he spent most of his time keeping Quebec in check so he had gotten nothing at all accomplished.

He sighed as he gathered up his stuff: folder, pens, jacket and… and… Something else, but he just couldn't remember what. He looked down to his bear. "Kumawaro? Am- am I missing something?"

Kumajirou looked up at the nation, tilted his head and said "Who?"

"Canada."

"Oh."

Canada sighed slightly before turning back to survey the room. "Hm. I could swear there was something else. Ah well. It was probably nothing." Canada slipped his coat on and picked up his things.

Wait. Where was Quebec?

A sudden shout from the other side of the room caught the Canadian's attention. He sighed when he saw what had happened.

From where he was, Canada could just make out Quebec wiping some sort of food off of his face and spouting French profanities at a rather angry looking American. America, himself, was just hefting another pastry when England jumped in to stop him. And received a cake in the face for his troubles.

There was silence for a moment as England wiped the offending food from his eyes. He strode over to the buffet table and picked up another cake. He considered it for a moment as though he were weighing it in his hand. Then, quick as a wipe, he turned and threw it as hard as he could at the other man.

America's mouth opened in surprise as the cake hit him in the face and crumbled down his shirt.

Somebody shouted "Food fight!" and it was all over. Every nation in the room immediately rushed the table for ammunition, some by will and others forced by the movement of the crowd, and so began the fight.

Canada knew it wouldn't take much time for the fight to become violent and so he picked up his stuff, grabbed Kumajirou and slide out of the room quiet as he could. He needn't have bothered being quiet because the noise of the fray would have covered any sound he did make, and it wasn't like they would have noticed him anyways.

He stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. He was greeted with silence and, for once, he savored it. It wasn't like the demanding and judgmental silence of the nations, but more peaceful, like the snow he knew was still falling outside.

Ah, snow. So beautiful. He crossed to the window and leaned on the sill, watching the lovely stuff coat the ground in a beautiful, unbroken blanket of white. Snow had always calmed the northern nation, perhaps because it never judged, never forgot. It kissed his cheeks the same as anyone else's. It never forgot him. Even now, just the sight of it made him feel more at home, soothing his frayed nerves and heightening his spirits. He loved it.

His attention was wrenched away from the scenery by the sudden swell of noise from inside the meeting room as the door to it opened. The door closed and the noise lowered to a muted buzz, which Canada easily ignored in favour of the snow

"Birdie?" He turned to see Prussia standing by the opposite wall. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Canada drew away from the window reluctantly and walked nearer to the ex-country, polar bear in arms. He couldn't help but smile at the punch that dampened his hair and stained his jacket. He should have known Prussia would join the battle. He always did.

He came o a stop just before the other, but kept his eyes on the floor. "Yeah?"

"I want to talk to you about Quebec."

Canada tightened his hold on Kumajirou. He should have known somebody would ask, but he didn't think it would be Prussia, after all, what past qualms could the German have with the Francophone? None. Not like the others. So it must be the occurrence in the meeting room. Well, one of them.

"What about him?"

"What is with him?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what's with him? What the f*ck does he have against everyone. And you. I wanna know why he's spouting hate left, right and centre. And you'd better tell me, I had to start a whole food fight just to make sure he wouldn't be in the way."

Canada smiled slightly. "I should have known it was you who started that fight. Only you would try something that risky."

"Hell yeah! Did you see their faces when-," Prussia stopped himself quickly. "Never mind. Not important. Now, answer my questions."

Prussia crossed his arms and looked at the other expectantly, waiting for him to respond.

Canada wasn't one to share with others. Sure he would go to Cuba's to vent the anger at his invisibility or at something stupid America had done, but he never actually went in-depth. His invisibility had forced him to take care of himself, not relying on anyone. That had been the reason he had gotten country status in the first place, hadn't it? Yes. So now with Prussia he would do the same thing he always did; stay on the surface and tell only what should already be known.

With that thought in mind, Canada finally looked up from the rug to meet Prussia's ruby eyes. "Well, he doesn't like France because he gave us up to England, who influenced me quite a bit. The whole reason he became independent was to keep his French heritage separate from the English influence. And he doesn't like America because of the war of 1812. He always has been one to hold a grudge."

The Prussian studied him, chewing the inside of his cheek. It had all been true, but Prussia could probably tell there was more, but he didn't look like he was going to ask any further into it.

"Then why doesn't he like you?" he asked.

Canada looked away again, this time choosing to study the top of Kumajirou's head. "I suppose… I suppose he just…" He sighed. "I don't know. He's never really liked me."

This seemed to satisfy Prussia. He dropped his arms and sighed. "Well, that's stupid. How could anyone not like you when you're nearly as awesome as me?" He ruffled Canada's hair, grinning. "Just keep that creep away from me, okay?"

"Don't worry. He said he wouldn't be coming to any more meetings."

"Good." Prussia turned and started off down the hallway.

"Aren't you going to wait for Germany?"

Prussia looked at the younger nation over his shoulder and smiled. "Nah. West can find his own way back." With that, the ex-nation disappeared around the corner and out of sight.

Canada kept staring down the hall after the man. He could tell that the German knew there was something he was withholding from him, but if he didn't ask then he wouldn't tell. Simple as that.

Something caught the Canadian's attention. Not noise, but quiet. The soft buzz that had been coming from the conference room had silenced meaning that the fighting must have stopped.

As soon as he realized this the door swung open revealing a very disgruntled Germany. He took no notice of the other man and walked straight past him in the direction of his brother.

After him came the others, all covered in food and drink and some sporting some very nasty bruises. The fight must have gotten violent, as Canada had predicted, and he was relieved he had made it out of there before it had.

The last two to come out of the room were England and America. America had one arm around the other, using him as a support, and he looked to be getting a black eye and blood trickled down his chin from a split lip. Just what had happened in there?

Canada walked over to them. England was scolding the older North American for something or other and Canada was sure it was well deserved.

"What happened?" The two older countries looked up in surprise at the soft voice. Their look of surprise was replaced with one of confusion when their gaze settled on the blonde in front of them. They had forgotten him again. Canada sighed. "I'm Canada," he reminded them.

America was the first to recover. "Oh, hey Mattie. Where were yah?"

"What happened?" he repeated impatiently.

His brother smiled. "Okay, so there we were in the middle of a food fight, when Sweden totally freaks out for no reason and punches me in the face. So I, being the awesome hero that I am, can't take this lying down, so I slug 'im." America punched the air with his free hand. "And then everyone wanted a piece of the action so they all jump in and start this giant fight, from which I emerged victorious. So, in conclusion, Sweden goes crazy and I beat him up"

He stood with a triumphant smile on his bruised face and waited for a reaction. Canada turned to England, eyebrow raised in question. England, in turn, glared at the American. "He didn't go crazy and it wasn't for no reason. After all, you did manage to elbow poor Finland in the face and you know how protective of him Sweden gets."

"Well, whatever. The important thing is that I won."

"The important thing is that Sweden didn't kill you. Now come on, they're still in there and I don't want you starting another fight." England adjusted the arm that was slung over his shoulder and helped it's owner hop away.

"Wait!" Canada shouted. Well, not really a shout, as it was fairly quiet, but for him it was a shout. He ran to catch up with the two and fell into stride with England.

"I just wanted to let you know that I might not come to the next couple of meeting."

England didn't even turn when he answered. "Oh? May I ask why?"

"Er- Well, there are just a few things I need to sort out with my government and it might take a while, so-,"

"Yes, yes, alright." England muttered impatiently.

"Just don't take too long or you might miss something important." America said. He laughed loudly at his own wit as he limped away on England's shoulder, leaving Canada standing silently in the corridor behind him.

He watched the retreating backs with a feeling of relief. He was glad they hadn't asked further into his absence because he really did not want anyone to know his true reasons. Sure it did include his government, but not in the way that England must have thought it did.

But underneath that relief was a pang of sadness. Neither of them had cared enough to find out, to dig deeper. Was it his invisibility or was he just not important enough to them to earn their interest? He knew they cared about him, but it wouldn't hurt to show it every once in a while.

Canada sighed. These thoughts wouldn't do anything to change that and he knew it, so he might as well forget about it.

But somehow, he just couldn't.

Sighing again, the Canadian turned back to the closed conference room door. He hadn't seen Quebec leave so he must still be in there. For whatever reason.

Wait. Sweden and Finland were still in there to. He had to get Quebec out before he caused any more problems.

He placed the bear on the ground and signaled for him to stay where he was. Then he cautiously approached the door, dreading what he would find. He had a deep sense of fear, not from any sound from the room, but rather, the silence that enveloped it.

He grasped the cold handle, turned it slowly and pushed the door open, holding his breath.

His gaze was instantly drawn to the mess left by the food fight. He took in the mess of food covering the floor and walls and made sure to take note of the red that looked suspiciously like blood. Canada swallowed thickly at the sight of it, he had never much liked the sight of blood and just the smell was enough to make him feel nauseous.

A quiet noise from across the room drew his attention away from the mess.

Expecting the worst, Canada was shocked to find something entirely different. Finland was sitting in a chair, blood stains on his jacket, with his head tilted back and a tissue held to his nose by a kneeling Sweden. His face was just as blank and sinister as always.

Behind the chair stood Quebec himself, face and clothes coated in food, holding a box of tissues out for Sweden and muttering apologies to the man in the chair.

Canada was stunned. He had never seen Quebec so kind to anyone, ever. He felt he should say something, make his presence known, but he just couldn't think of what to say.

He had known that Quebec should have nothing against the two Scandinavian nations, but after what had happened earlier he had never thought that he would be kind to anyone. Never show any kind of compassion or sincerity. He had always been spiteful and manipulating, not as bad as he had been earlier, but definitely not like this. Perhaps the being a part of Canada had influenced him more then he thought.

Then again, with Quebec's history, he could be unpredictable.

Canada just watched for a while as Finland's nosebleed was stopped and Quebec thanked for his help.

He didn't think he had made any noise but Quebec's head jerked in his direction, and as soon as he saw the Canadian in the doorway those blue-violet eyes immediately filled with malice so intense that Canada backed up a little.

"Er," he managed, "W-we should probably get going."

Quebec snorted before turning back to the Scandinavians, offering one last apology and turning to join the other country. He brushed past Canada and set off down the hall, not bothering to wait for him, and Canada, after a moment of stunned silence, followed.

The ride back to the hotel was silent, as was their arrival at the hotel. Soon after arriving they parted ways to their separate rooms to pack for the trip back to Canada. The "government issues" had forced them both to return early.

Once packed they set off for the airport, boarded the plane and they rode in silence once again. Upon arriving they took a taxi back to Matthew's house in the centre of Ottawa without a single word passing between them. The cab driver looked anxiously back at them more then once.

Only when they ware safely inside and away from prying eyes - and ears - did Canada give in to what he had been holding back that entire time.

He groaned slightly, clutching his stomach, and leaned against the closed door. He closed his eyes and grimaced at the feeling he had had since they had left Bern. An uneasiness deep in his belly, making him grit his teeth in discomfort.

A snicker from Quebec made him open one eye to find the other smiling.

"You know," Canada managed, "You don't have to encourage them so much."

Jean snickered again. "You know I have no control over my government. And besides, Labrador has been wanting this for years."

"No," Matthew replied, "Not this, they just wanted to be their own province not a nation."

"Well now it will be. And Newfoundland is going along for the ride."

"Jean, they won't be able to support themselves. You saw what they looked like before they joined. I can't let them go through that again."

"Oh please," Jean scoffed, "They'll make it. They always did. And I didn't see them during the Depression, you did."

"But you know, you remember." Canada straightened up as that dreadful feeling faded. He knew it would come back, it wouldn't go away until the results of the vote came back, so he would just have to wait.

Matthew walked down the hall, Quebec trailing behind him. He stopped at the door to his study as the feeling returned and he grimaced. It wasn't painful, not like Quebec had been, but it was enough to let him know it was still happening.

He took a deep breath and pushed open the door, revealing his beloved study, his sanctuary where he escaped from the world and his troubles to sit down with a book or do some mindless paperwork. But this time, trouble followed him in.

Matthew crossed the room to his desk and sat down in the chair behind it. Jean grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and pulled it over to sit facing the Canadian across his desk. He leaned back and placed his feet casually on the desk, smirking at Canada's wince.

"You know," he said, "I just can not stand to see my other half so… distraught."

"I'm not your other half." Matthew said quietly, "Not anymore."

"Maybe not, but I still care about you. Definitely more then the others did. At least I notice you."

"Don't say that. They care about me plenty, I'm just not…"

"Just not … what?"

"I just don't stand out. It's not their fault."

"So it is you're fault?"

"No! No, it's not anyone's fault."

"It must be somebody's fault."

"It's not," Matthew said, his anger building.

"Then why?"

"I don't know!"

"You know, it is not good to block your emotions Mathieu. It could end badly."

"What-?"

Quebec stood from his chair, cutting Canada off mid-sentence. He advanced on the desk and leaned over it making the other country lean back slightly.

"It's always good to have a few plans," he whispered conspiratorially, "And I've got plenty."

Jean pulled back and straightened his slim tie. With that he began to walk away, but before he reached the door he turned back to the confused Canadian and said, "Just don't lose your head."

And with that he turned and walked out of the room, laughing.

~o~

Months passed. Seasons changed. The air grew warmer, the snow melted and the plants bloomed.

The vote in Newfoundland and Labrador had been done and the results received. A majority of the populace wanted independence and there was nothing Canada, or his boss could do about it.

They met in Saint John's, Newfoundland to sign the papers and make the splitting official. The feeling in Canada's gut worsened to a burning and eventually he could feel the tug of separation. Once the dotted lines were signed and the government officials made it public he knew that, just like last time, there would be no going back.

He stumbled down the hallway, following the insistent tug in his belly. Unlike the last time, Canada was able to stay in his ex-province to meet the newest country instead of having to fly in from Europe. And it was happening right then and there.

He ran down the hall, past door after door, not knowing where he was going. His eyes were watering slightly as the burning intensified and still he kept going.

At some point Canada tripped on a fold in the rug and he fell to his hands and knees gasping for air.

_Come on, Matthew, _he thought, _you've been through worse. This is nothing compared to war._

He gritted his teeth as the burning reached it's peak and just when he thought it would never end, the sensation stopped.

Canada opened his eyes and realized that the process was complete. That Labrador was gone and Newfoundland had gone with it. He considered this, what it would mean for his country and didn't notice the sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

Still he remained where he was on the floor as the footsteps came to a halt just before him and still he did not notice. Until a wet tongue slid up his cheek accompanied by a loud panting.

Matthew looked up slightly and found himself face to face with a rather sickly looking dog. It was a golden lab with bright amber eyes and a happy wagging tail. But it was so thin and tired looking that the Canadian couldn't help but feel sorry for it.

A voice beckoned the dog away and Canada looked up slowly to see a pair of well-worn rain boots standing three feet away. Next was a pair of old, worn jeans, then a pale burgundy jacket over a white collared shirt. The boy wearing it was smiling slightly and had bright blue eyes lighting up a smooth face. To Canada's dread, he recognized that face.

"Hey Matt," said Newfoundland, "Long time no see."

* * *

><p>Sorry for the wait, but with exams and summatives and the like it was difficult to find time to write. But here it is.<p>

And I would like to apologise to the man living in Quebec who I saw on Canadian Pickers that one time who actually _is _named Jean Pierre.

When exams are done I should be able to get out more chapters faster.

TRANSLATIONS:

_C'est de sa faute - It's his fault_

_Je ferai tout ce que je veux faire_! _Tu n'est_ pas _le patron de moi_! -_ I'll do what I want to do. It's his fault_

_Ne pas etre tellement en colere - You don't have to shout (Or something like that)_

I used Google translate so some of this stuff might be wrong

P.S. I don't own Hetalia


	4. Chapter 3: In the Heart of the Night

**Chapter 3**

Sans au Coeur de la Nuit

~o~

"I have a proposition for you."

Quebec was standing in Canada's study as the other was working on paperwork at his desk. His hair had been cut shorter so that it was still long enough to hang in his eyes, but looked much less like his Canadian counterpart's. His blue slacks had been replaced by white ones and his shirt, vest and tie by a simple pale blue collared shirt. Casual, but still at the height of fashion.

Of course he still wore his brown leather shoes.

Matthew glanced up with tired eyes.

"Jean, please," he whispered. He turned back to the papers littering his desk. "I don't have time for this."

"Oh, but I think you do." Quebec stepped forward and placed a hand on one of the pages, effectively stopping Matthew's writing. "I know you're having problems with the Maritimes and I simply want to help."

It was true, there had been some issues with the Maritimes. Ever since Newfoundland had separated there had been problems getting supplies to and from the Eastern provinces.

His economy had been getting steadily worse with the low supplies of fish and bottled water, which had come from Quebec himself. Unable to sell water to America, Canada had been running out of money and he was starting to feel the effects on his health.

But still he couldn't trust Quebec.

"What do you mean by 'help'?" He asked quietly.

"I simply mean that what I propose could help your economy a great deal and we all know that you need it." Quebec gave a smug smile.

"Alright then, what do you propose?"

Jean leaned forward further so that his forearms were resting on the desk and clasped his hands together.

"I think that perhaps you should hand over the Maritimes to me."

"What!"

Jean smiled further. "I think having three less provinces could greatly increase the amount of support going out to your other provinces and territories."

Canada stood quickly, hands clutched into shaking fists at his sides, causing Quebec to step back slightly.

"Absolutely not!" he cried, "What makes you think I'm just going to hand over my territory to you?"

"Because if you do not, then things could get _tres violent tres vite._"

"W-what are you saying?"

"I am saying that my government wants that land and my boss is willing to do much to get it."

Jean let this sink in before he continued. "So I think you'd best give it to me, _non_?"

Canada remained silent for a moment, staring at the desk and thinking it over. At last he looked up and, still avoiding the other's eyes, said, "No."

Quebec stared at Canada across the desk, not sure if he was really being serious. His face was blank, but a slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Very well." He withdrew his hands from the desk and stepped back a bit. Canada kept his eyes on the floor all defiance gone as quickly as it had come.

"Then keep on your toes Mathieu," he said, "I will not give up so easily."

"I don't doubt it Jean," he sighed, "You never were one to-."

Canada's cell-phone rang from it's place in his pocket, interrupting him mid-sentence. He excused himself quietly and pulled the phone out, checking the caller ID.

America.

He sighed again and turned to Quebec. "Sorry, I have to take this."

Jean shrugged nonchalantly and walked out the door, lighting a cigarette as he went.

Canada flipped open the phone when it rang again.

"Hello?"

"_Hey, uh… Mattie!_" Canada flinched at the obnoxiously loud voice. Yes, it was definitely America. What could he possibly want?

Matthew feared it was something about one of the new countries, but resisted the urge to hang up immediately. Instead he took a deep breath and answered as steadily as he could. "Hey, Al."

"_Yo, dude! What happened? I was waiting on the line for hours!_"

"Al, it's only been a couple of minutes."

"_Well, close enough_."

"Listen, America, I'm kind of busy. What was it you wanted?"

"_Oh, right! What's you phone number?_"

"Is that all you wanted to know?"

_"Yeah, 'cause-."_

Canada hung up.

~o~

He could tell that summer was coming. Flowers were at full bloom and the air had warmed considerably. In fact, the warm air would probably lead to another discussion on global warming. Not that it would do any good.

Canada sighed. There was really no reason to come to these meetings. Nothing would get done and it wasn't like they noticed he was there anyways. He should have just stayed at home with Quebec and Newfoundland.

Newfoundland. They had spoken before he had left, out in the garden behind his house, and he couldn't help but replay the conversation over in his head.

_"What are you doing out here? You should be in bed resting."_

_ "Huh? Oh, hey Matt. How'd you know I was back here?"_

_ "I heard you coughing from my car. Why aren't you inside?"_

_ "I got tired of staying in bed. I needed a change of scenery."_

_ "You should stay inside… You still have a fever."_

_ "Do I?"_

_ "Yeah... Listen you can stay out here if you want, but I think you should go back inside soon, okay?"_

_ "Alright."_

Birds chirped outside.

_"Matt! Wait. Where are you going?"_

_ "I have to get to a meeting in London. I'd ask you to come but I don't think you should with you economy and all."_

_ "Do you think you could stay? For just a little while longer?"_

_ "Newfoundland, I have to catch my flight-."_

_ "Please?"_

_ "… Alright."_

_ "Thanks, I hate to be alone."_

Canada's grip on his folder tightened.

_"Where's Labrador?"_

_ "He's inside with Jean. Been hanging out with him for a few days now."_

_ "Oh… Well Kumahato could keep you company if you want."_

_ "Who?"_

_ "Canada."_

_ "Oh."_

_ "Heh, sure. If you don't mind, of course."_

_ "No, not at all."_

_ "Thanks."_

_ "No problem."_

_ "… You know, I never wanted to be a country. Still don't."_

Canada grimaced.

_"What are you saying?"_

_ "I don't like being on my own. I want to be a part of you again. I don't want to hurt anymore."_

_ "…"_

_ "Sorry."_

_ "No! No it's-it's fine."_

_ "…"_

_ "…"_

_ "You should probably get going, eh?"_

_ "Yeah I guess so."_

Canada closed his eyes.

_"Wait. Just one more thing."_

_ "Yeah?"_

_ "Uh… could… I-I mean…"_

_ "Yeah?"_

_ "Never mind. It's not important."_

_ "No, what is it."_

_ "It's nothing."_

_ "Oh. Well, I should go."_

_ "'Kay. Say hi to England for me."_

_ "Will do."_

A noise from the other side of the room caught his attention. Canada turned to see England walk in, reading some files and muttering to some unseen being. He crossed the room to the blackboard, not noticing the quiet Canadian standing by the window, and began to write on the board.

Canada stood and listened to the scratching of chalk. He considered letting England know that he was there, but decided against it and turned back to the window, folder clutched to his chest where he would usually be holding a polar bear.

As soon as he had left Ottawa he had regretted leaving Kumajirou behind and now he missed him. They had always been together, and now that he wasn't there with him, Canada felt lonely.

Maybe he should talk to England. It might take his mind off of things.

Canada turned to face the other man who was still writing on the chalkboard. He swallowed and, after gathering his courage, he spoke.

"Hey, England."

England jumped slightly before turning to face the North-American nation.

"Bloody hell! Don't scare me like that!"

"S-sorry."

"Why on earth are you here so early?"

"I d-didn't want to be late again."

"Oh. Well that's very commendable of you, but you shouldn't go around scaring people half to death. Although, I should expect it from you, Alfred."

Canada's heart sank. England thought he was America.

"I-I'm Canada."

"Oh, sorry about that lad, I didn't realize."

"No, it's okay," he looked down at the floor. "I'm used to it. Sorry to bother you."

Canada turned and walked back to the window, hoping to be left alone. But behind him he could hear the sound of soft footsteps and the rustling of his uniform as he moved. A hand gripped his shoulder and, immediately, Canada shrank away from the touch.

"Lad, are you alright?" Still he refused to look up from the floor, but instead nodded his head quickly in response. "Matthew, don't lie to me."

He looked up to meet the Brit's eyes and was surprised to see them filled with real worry. He was instantly filled with guilt and regret for how he had reacted. England deserved to know; after all he had only raised him. And Newfoundland had asked.

"Sorry. I'm just a bit worried about Quebec and Newfoundland."

England's face lit up with surprise and then understanding, he stepped up beside his ex-colony and looked out the window at the beautiful scenery.

"You know," he began, "It's not easy to give up something, or someone, that you've taken care of. When you and Alfred became your own countries I was sad that you wouldn't need me anymore, but I knew that you were ready to be on your own. Don't worry about them. I'm sure they'll be okay."

The Canadian thought about this for a moment. That hadn't been what he'd meant, but it really wasn't that important anyways. He was just glad that England was showing real concern and care. Arthur had been sad when he had left? Canada smiled at the thought.

He turned to look at England again. "Thanks," he said and turned back to the window again, spirits lifted. "And sorry about Quebec. I forgot how he could be."

"It's alright, I understand. Sometimes when people want the roses they forget about the thorns." England patted his shoulder once more and then walked back to the blackboard to finish whatever he had been writing.

Canada continued to look through the window, thoughts and memories churning through his head as the other countries arrived and took their seats. He made sure to wait for Russia to sit down before choosing a chair for himself.

As he had stood at that window his thoughts had slowly reverted back to the depressing realizations of what was happening to him. His country was falling apart and there was nothing that could be done about it. If any more provinces broke off then a repeat of the depression for him was a very real possibility.

He shivered at the thought of it. He could remember how he had felt, feverish and forever hungry for the food his citizens could no longer afford.

Newfoundland, of course had been even worse, his low economy and slow development keeping him looking much younger then he really was. In truth, he was way older then the rest of Canada, but looked a few years younger Matthew himself, despite the centuries of difference.

He wasn't fairing too well as his own country either. He and Labrador were pale and feverish, and the riots in Newfoundland were making the usually happy man sick and distant. Canada couldn't stand to see him like that. It just wasn't right.

The meeting continued to it's usual standard and Canada remained silent, not noticing the stare of ruby red eyes that watched his every move.

~o~

_Chanting…_

_ Laughter…_

_ Children…_

Matthew woke with a start to the sound of heavy rain pattering on the roof. He lay in the pitch-blackness of his room breathing heavily. That dream. It had been recurring for quite some time, and yet he could never remember much about it.

A flash of lightening lit the room. Canada counted. _One. Two. Three. _Thunder rumbled, reverberating through the beams of the house and startling it's inhabitants. The storm was not directly overhead, but it was vicious non-the-less, battering against the window with immense force and chilling Matthew to the bone.

He could feel it too, deep in his chest, the chill that came with the storm covering most of south Ontario. He shivered.

The storm must have woken him up, he decided. That, or the noise coming from down the hall.

Canada sat bolt upright at the sound of shouts and loud crying. He immediately flung his light covers off and, after grabbing his glasses, ran to the door on the other side of the room, flinging it open and stepping into the hallway.

There was absolute silence as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark hall. He strained his ears to hear something, anything, not daring to breath lest he miss it. And there it was; a quiet whimpering followed by a wail of distress.

Matthew followed the sound, hand on the wall to keep his balance in the darkness, and feared what could be causing the sounds. A silence caused him to pause only to hurry on as another wail echoed down the empty hallway.

He eventually found his way to the source of the distressing sound. Newfoundland's room.

He had been staying with the Canadian ever since his independence became official, afraid to be alone and in need of money. With his government already helping Quebec, the Canadian government had little to spare for the new nation, but he took every penny he could get.

Matthew pushed open the door and found Newfoundland lying, cocooned in his blankets, writhing as though in great pain. As Canada cautiously drew closer he could see that his eyes were closed tightly and beads of sweat dotted his brow. His cheeks were flushed with fever and he appeared to be unconscious.

Canada approached him slowly, unsure of what to do. This was the first time he had ever had to take care of someone this sick. Newfoundland's economy must have been worse then originally thought if he was this feverish.

From the looks of things he was having a fever dream, something horrifying and surreal. He needed to get that fever down.

Suddenly Matthew was blinded with light. He hissed and brought his arms up to cover his eyes. After the pain died down he risked a glance over his arms at the door. Quebec stood in the open doorway, hair disheveled and a confused and sleepy expression on his face. He had taken the time to pull a robe on over his pajamas and it was, of course, a deep blue to match his pale blue pajamas.

A small smile graced Canada's lips for a moment in greeting. "Hey," he said, "Could you give me a hand with Newfoundland. I need to get him out of those covers and cool him down a bit."

Jean stood in the doorway, his expression remaining placid as he looked at the boy writhing in the bed and, without a second glance at either of them, he turned and walked away.

Canada was stunned by this, but fought the urge to follow in favour of helping Newfoundland before he hurt himself.

He turned to face the boy again, unsure of what to do. He hesitated for a moment before stepping closer and grabbing at the quilt held so fiercely to Newfoundland's body. He felt his fingers close around the cloth and tugged it, but hands held it fast. He tugged at it again and this time it came away in his hands, revealing Newfoundland's twitching and shivering body, shirt soaked in sweat.

Matthew went to work cooling the sick nation. He filled a bowl with cool water and used a cloth to apply it to the feverish face and neck.

After a good thirty minutes Newfoundland finally calmed and his twitching was stayed, however the shivering remained. This made Canada nervous, but he was relieved that he had at least cooled down slightly, not much mind, but enough.

There he remained for the rest of the night, unwilling to leave for fear that the man would get worse again. The rain set a grim mood. He had turned the lights off earlier to help them both sleep, but the darkness just set his nerves on edge, scared of what he couldn't see, but too afraid of what he would to turn them back on.

They remained in total darkness, punctuated only by lightening and thunder that made Canada jump.

At one point, Newfoundland woke.

His voice startled Matthew when he spoke. "I'm dying, aren't I."

The statement perplexed the Canadian and he could feel the sting of tears behind his eyes at the prospect. But he quietly said "No. I won't let you." and took hold of one of his hands. This seemed to calm him and he fell back to sleep, still gripping Matthew's hand.

But sleep did not come easily for Canada. He sat fighting tears as memories forced their way to the surface of his thoughts. He couldn't lose Newfoundland again. He didn't think he could stand it.

The first time, it had been so slow and gradual that he hadn't really noticed until he had disappeared entirely. Well, almost. There had been that moment, when Matthew had found Newfoundland, nearly gone, sitting on the floor crying. But he couldn't quite remember. Just like he couldn't remember when Quebec disappeared, Nova Scotia disappeared or when any of the others had faded away.

One day he had just found himself all alone. He'd thought they had left him, just like France did and America after that and finally England. And his mother so long ago. Everyone he had ever loved always, always left him. But now they were coming back and he could see that it wasn't a good thing.

He sat there remembering all he had lost and feeling more alone then ever before despite the closeness of Newfoundland and the hand that still held his, limp with sleep and giving off a steady warmth. Too warm in fact.

Canada's free hand found it's way to Newfoundland's forehead and he discovered it to be hot to the touch. He was burning up again.

Sighing, Matthew let go of the too-warm hand and set to work cooling him down again. The bowl of water was still cool enough but he refilled it anyways, more for something to do then anything else, and used the cloth on the bedside table to quell the fever that was once again climbing.

After the fever was sufficiently cooled, Matthew sat in the chair again. Kumajirou pulled himself onto the bed and curled up next to Newfoundland, placing his head on the boy's chest and his round black eyes open to watch over the two nations.

Canada smiled at the bear and reached out to scratch his head tenderly. He felt the bony head lean into his touch and ran his fingers through the course fur.

Maybe, it wouldn't be so bad if the world just slipped away. He smiled slightly. His hand fell away from his companion and finally, sleep took over.

Down the hall Jean sat in his room on the bed, cell phone in hand. Newfoundland was curled in the corner whining quietly and shifting uncomfortably every few minutes.

For the past fifteen minutes he had been on hold with his government and he was getting impatient. His hand was tapping a quick beat on his leg and his frown deepened as time wore on. He was just considering hanging up when a voice on the other end answered.

"Mmmmm, _bonjour_?" The voice of his Prime Minister was tired and slightly slurred; he had obviously been asleep when the phone had begun to ring.

"_Bonjour Monsieur Duceppe. C'est Jean. J'ai de bonnes nouvelles._"

The storm faded, the clouds drifted away, the newly exposed moon sank below the horizon and the sun stained the sky a beautiful pink and orange. A dove alighted on the branch of a maple tree and let loose a string of chirping songs.

Matthew opened his eyes to find the room glowing slightly orange in the early morning light. He stretched his sore back and glanced at the clock. The bright green numbers read 4:32. He sighed and reached out a hand to Newfoundland's forehead. It was still warm, but better then it had been the night before.

Blue eyes fluttered open at the feel of his hand and upon waking Newfoundland immediately began to shiver again.

Canada withdrew his hand and glanced around the room. He spotted the blanket in a rumpled heap in the corner from when he had discarded it the night before and retrieved it quickly. The blanket was gently tucked around the boy in the bed, but his shivering did not stop.

Kumajirou crawled over and snuggled up against him to share his natural heat. The shivering still didn't stop, but Newfoundland allowed himself to smile at the gesture and wrapped his shaking arms around the bear and thus turning away from Canada.

"I miss Labrador." The statement took Matthew by surprise and, not knowing what to say, he remained silent. Newfoundland continued, "He used to keep me company when we were disappearing, when no one else would. And even before then he would keep me warm from the maritime air." He sighed. "But he's with Quebec now, and he won't come back to me."

Silence weighed down the air and Matthew remained so as sobs came forth from the new nation. He reached out to pat Newfoundland on the back, but just as his hand touched his shirt he turned and looked at Canada with teary tired eyes.

"Do you remember," he said slowly, "When we were little?"

"Yeah, a bit."

"You remember when France and England would forget about us and we would go and play together in the forests? Hide and seek and stuff like that."

"How could I forget?"

"We never could finish a game," he huffed in amusement and looked up at the ceiling, "We'd always get distracted by the animals or France would call you and Jean back and stuff." He smiled sadly. "We played quite a lot actually."

"Yeah, we had a lot of free time."

He turned his head to face Matthew again. "What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"When England took you away, why didn't you come back?"

"But, I did."

"No, you came back when it was too late. When England had taken me away and some of the others were already disappearing and we were too old to play games. Why did you stay with him when he didn't even know you were there?"

"I… I don't know," Matthew looked down. He couldn't look Newfoundland in the eye. "He was my family."

"No, we were your family. But you chose them over us. Why?"

"It wasn't my choice," he looked up and violet met blue, both rimmed with red and filled with tears. "They may not have noticed me, but as a part of the British Empire I had to stay there, just like you did. I'm sorry we grew up, but it doesn't mean we grew apart."

"No, we grew together. W-when Mom told us to stay together she didn't mean become a single person. Or multiple people in Rupert's case."

"Is it really my fault that I'm the one who stayed behind? It's not like I wanted to be all alone." He sighed and stood from the chair to leave. "_Merde_. I'm sorry. Maybe I should just go."

"It's okay. I'm sorry too. Just, please don't go." His eyes began to water again and he reached out, taking hold of Matthew's sleeve. "I don't want to be alone again."

Horrible memories of loneliness and fear filled Canada's mind and he had to shut his eyes to make them stop. He knew how Newfoundland felt just as Newfoundland knew how he had used to feel and he knew that neither of them ever wanted to go through that again.

So he sat back in the chair and held the boy's hand until he drifted back into a restless sleep. When the grip on his hand relaxed he closed his own hand tighter, unwilling to let go. He didn't want to be alone either.

~o~

Clouds rolled across the sky lazily, remnants of the storm from the night before, and blocked out the sun with their peculiar shapes and wispy tails. The ground was sodden and puddles of rainwater filled even the slightest of dips in the ground.

A slight wind ruffled Matthew's hair and carried the scent of fresh rain with it. He closed his eyes and breathed in the familiar scent. It calmed him, not in the way that snow did, but it was still enough to slow his heartbeat and empty his worried mind.

Not one hour ago he had been sitting in the Parliament Buildings talking with the Prime Minister about the loss of provinces. There had been rumors going around that Nova Scotia wanted independence as well, but it remained unconfirmed. If they turned out to be true then there was no doubt that the economic loss would be great, but it seemed unlikely.

Still it troubled Canada's mind.

Now that he was back home he hoped to talk to Newfoundland and Quebec about cutting off their support. He just couldn't handle it anymore, they were running out of money and at this rate another economic depression was entirely possible and that was something that he definitely did not want to go through again.

He entered the house reluctantly, not wanting to leave behind the sun and wind and definitely not wanting to face the two new nations. The front hall seemed quiet and empty compared to the warm world outside full of birdsong and beautiful colours.

Then again, maybe it was just his imagination.

Matthew shrugged off his light jacket and hung it up on the coat rack near the door. The silence in his house was overwhelming, so much so that when he heard soft voices from down the hall he jumped in surprise.

He figured that it must have been his two ex-provinces, who else would be in his home? So he followed to sound down the brightly lit hallway, past closed doors and empty rooms until he reached the source. The Library.

The door to it was slightly open and he could see the two of them sitting on the couch. An unnecessary fire burned in the fireplace heating the room to an uncomfortable degree. His fist came up to knock on the door and make his presence known, but he stayed his hand before it made contact with the wood.

He knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but he couldn't help it. He needed to know.

"You know it can not last much longer." That was Jean.

"I know, but I have faith in him and I need all the help I can get." Newfoundland's voice sounded hoarse. He was getting worse again.

"If you agree to my conditions then you can get plenty of help."

"I know, I know. Your conditions are very reasonable, but if I accept them I risk losing support from the Canadian government and Matt's been really helpful. Even you're under his support."

"_Oui_, but I do not need it anymore. My economy has stabilized and I have enough money now to support the both of us. Labrador seems more then willing."

"Obviously, but his and your borders are connected, you can protect him. I'm an island, I have no physical connection to anyone or anything."

"Yes, but if my government accepts and follows my Prime Minister's plan then we will have more then enough protection."

"What good could my land possibly do for you anyways? It's not like you'll find any oil or gold or anything."

"You never know."

A chuckle. "Jean, I'm the Rock. There's nothing there."

"Nothing but strategic possibility."

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying that if you do agree to my terms then it will make everything else that much easier."

"You mean that- Augh."

"It hurts doesn't it. I can make that stop too you know. All you have to do is say yes."

"But what if-,"

"_Shh!_" Matthew held his breathe as Quebec silenced the other boy. "I believe we have a visitor. _Salut Matthieu_. Come in, there is no need to hide anymore"

Canada pushed the door open all the way and stepped into the room. The two others turned to look at him, one with a sly smile and the other with worry.

Newfoundland turned his sick eyes back to Jean. "How did you…"

"When one is not often seen one knows when one is being watched." Quebec stood and brushed imaginary dirt off his already pristine shirt. "I think you are too old to be listening in behind closed doors, Matthieu. It's just not polite you know."

* * *

><p>Hey readers!<p>

Sorry about the lateness but I have excuses (lots) including the fact that I'm my own editor so I'm sorry if there are any errors.

Newfoundland doesn't get a name. I apologize, but I'm basing my characters off of the ones in the I am Matthewian Project and his character in that didn't have a name that I know of. Obviously I made some changes to personality and physical traits and stuff so now these characters are mine.

Thank you for all the reviews! I really didn't think I would get so many... or any at all. But they really do help so keep it up and I will too. And I'm sorry for the lack of Prussia. He'll be back, don't worry.

Translations:

_Tres violent tres vite - _Very violent very fast

_Bonjour Monsieur Duceppe. C'est Jean. J'ai de bonnes nouvelles - _Hello Mister Duceppe (Real guy). It's Jean. I have some good news.

I do not own Hetalia (or Mister Duceppe)


	5. Chapter 4: Path of Glory

**Chapter 4**

Sentier de Gloire

~o~

The numbers just didn't add up. They had to have more money then that, but the sickly feeling in his throat and stomach told him otherwise.

Matthew put down his pen carefully and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes closed against the impending headache.

He had cut off all support to Quebec and Newfoundland, but getting the money back that he had already given away was proving to be a difficult task. There was just no way he could without the resources that had come from the two provinces. And it didn't help that their independence had cut him off from the Maritimes as well.

God, he needed some maple syrup.

Oh yeah, and he was running low on that too. That was one of the hardest things to contend with, low syrup supplies. Quebec was the major maple syrup manufacturing province so it was difficult to make up for the loss. He just couldn't stand that fake stuff no matter how desperate he got. Not that he was, but… if it came to that.

A knock at the door made the Canadian look up. Quebec wouldn't knock he would just waltz in, so was it Newfoundland? He hadn't spoken to either one for quite some time.

"Come in."

The door swung open to reveal both the nations in question. Quebec was back in his vest and tie and Newfoundland was wearing a light collared shirt and black slacks.

That was strange. Normally he would never have worn something like that, wanting instead for something more comfortable and practical, not stiff and fashionable. Not only was he dressed better then normal, but he appeared healthier as well, dark circles were still under his eyes but he also had more colour in his cheeks and seemed much more alert.

Matthew immediately knew that something was wrong, there was just no way his economy could have recovered so quickly. He sat up straighter as the two of them approached his desk. Jean had an air of irritation about him and Newfoundland seemed rather quiet.

When they stopped just in front of him Newfoundland chose to stare at his shoes, but all of Canada's attention was on the Francophone standing next to him. Even when Labrador trotted in behind them happily they paid no heed to him.

Matthew and Jean stared at each other, both unwilling to be the first to speak. Surprisingly it was Newfoundland who spoke first and broke the tense silence.

"I'm sorry Matt."

"_Ferme la bouche!_" Jean hissed harshly. Newfoundland swallowed thickly and continued to stare at his shoes.

"Jean, what's going on?" Canada's confusion was growing and the sight of Newfoundland being silenced so severely made him nervous and suspicious. He glanced between the two, trying to understand what had happened.

"I just thought you would like to know that he has signed a treaty with me agreeing to reside under my protection and support in exchange for control over his land and citizens. Because you see Mathieu, not everyone has issues with giving me their land." He smiled in triumph as the other's eyes widened in fear and realization.

His mouth opened to respond, but finding nothing to say to Quebec he instead turned his confusion on the boy beside him. "Newfoundland? Is-is this true?"

He winced slightly at the question, but did not respond, refusing to look him in the eye. Matthew's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern for the silent boy. It made sense, the quick recovery, the discussion in the library and the way he hadn't protested when Canadian financial support had been cut.

He looked back up to the other boy who was no longer smiling. Instead he seemed annoyed and impatient.

"Thank you for letting me know," Canada whispered, "Good luck."

"_Merci_," It was said so forcefully that he had no doubt that it was anything but sincere, but said nothing of it to the two. Jean turned to Newfoundland and gestured for him to leave. "And take the dog with you," he added. The boy did so without a word and Labrador bounded happily after his master, but Quebec remained at the desk, unmoving.

"Is there something else I can help you with Quebec?"

The boy's mouth twisted into an unfriendly smile and his eyes narrowed slightly. "When we were little," he began quietly, "Back when we were under custody of Angleterre that is, I was ignored entirely. Because of you and that American Pig."

Matthew opened his mouth to protest but Jean held up a finger to silence him. "When you finally figured out that I was going unnoticed I do not deny that you were concerned for me. You told me that one-day I would be noticed. That one-day I would be in the spotlight. You told me that I could do great things if I tried. Well that one-day is coming soon and something is beginning. Do not doubt that I will do something great, because it has already started."

Canada didn't like the direction that conversation was taking, but he could see no way out and besides he wanted to know what Quebec was planning.

"Jean, what's happening?"

"You remember what I told Francis? That I would be everything he denied me? Well in order to do that I need land. And I know where I can get some."

Violet eyes widened at what he had implied and Canada stood from his chair, eye to eye with the young nation in front of him. "You can't just do that," he said through gritted teeth.

Quebec stood back slightly and swung his foot up to land on the edge of the desk with a thud. He leaned forward with his forearms resting on his knee and said, "Oh, I think I can."

The leather shoe on his foot was shining as though it had been polished quite recently, but still had the cracks and folds of age. They were well-worn shoes and Matthew was wary of them.

He kept his eyes fixed on the shoe when he spoke. "This isn't something you can control. There are rules about this sort of thing, you know that."

"But Mathieu, it has already started. Rumors. His land shall be mine soon enough and when that happens… we shall see." Jean took his foot off it's spot on the desk and began to wander around the room. The shelf of books that covered the far wall garnered his attention and he ran his fingers down their spines delicately.

"My offer is still open. I would be more then happy to take that bothersome land off your hands." He paused at a thick book before pulling it off the shelf. He weighed it in his hands and traced the gold lettering on the cover with the tip of his index finger. He flipped it open to a random spot, looking through the pages absently.

Canada sat again, keeping his eye on the other. The books in the study were his personal favourites, hand-picked from the library for their usefulness or for their company when the library seemed just too big and empty. Many of them were very old and worn from decades of use. Some had been given to him by either England or France, dating back centuries while others had been collected from book shops around the world.

They were his.

"You know what I'm going to say to that," his voice was carefully measured, "The Maritimes are essential to my economic balance, I couldn't possibly let them go at this or any point."

The book snapped shut in Jean's hand making the Canadian wince.

"Don't get so attached to things, Mathieu, because you never know when they have go away." He turned on his heel to face the man sitting behind the desk and book still in hands walked slowly over, studying the cover of the book once more. He came to a halt a few feet in front of the desk and ran his hand over the book cover. He looked up to meet the other nation's eyes. "Are you sure of your decision?"

Canada swallowed. "Yes"

He smiled. "Then get your soldiers ready, Canada. It's time to play war."

~o~

Prussia leaned back in his chair with a sigh and stretched his legs out under the table. There really was no point in him coming to these meetings, after all he wasn't an official country anymore, but he was on the lookout for someone in particular.

For the past few meetings he had been observing Canada quietly from across the room, noticing every change in behavior and appearance. Okay so it was slightly stalkerish, but it wasn't like he had anything better to do in his spare time and besides, he wanted to find out more about Quebec.

The room was filling quickly with more nations entering every few minutes. Most of them had taken their seats around the table in their usual spots though some were standing around the room talking in groups of two or three about various things.

Normally Prussia would have gladly joined them, but at the moment he preferred to wait for Canada and listen in on a few conversations on the side. It was amazing what you could learn when you weren't noticed.

He was just listening in on a conversation about what happened when Spain got Romano drunk (he needed to find that video) when he suddenly realized that Canada was sitting in the chair next to him.

"Mein Gott!" His hands flew up into the air and his chair was suddenly replaced by the floor and he was staring up at the ceiling. A dull pain spread across his back and he groaned.

Canada's worried face appeared above him. "Mon Dieu, I am so, so sorry. That was all my fault. Are you okay?"

He smiled. "Yeah, I'm good. Help me up would ya?" Canada took his extended hand and pulled him to his feet. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Why are you sitting over here?" He asked rubbing his sore back.

"Russia took my chair."

He looked across the room to see that the large Russian man was indeed in Canada's seat, smiling serenely as though he didn't have a care in the world. Prussia shuddered, remembering his days spent in the huge, cold house, alone with his thoughts and Russia stalking the hallways at night and- No. Stop.

He shook his head to rid it of the memories and turned back to the quiet man standing nervously beside him. The polar bear was absent again and it was obviously making him feel uneasy, but there was something else Prussia noticed. Dark circles hung under his normally clear violet eyes and he seemed much less alert then usual. He was obviously tired and the ex-nation couldn't help but wonder why.

"Hey Birdie, you feeling okay?"

Shock registered on the Canadian's face from Prussia's sudden show of compassion, no matter how small and automatically replied with "Yeah I'm fine." he paused, "Why?"

Why the hell did he care? "Because it would be totally unawesome of me to ignore when my buddy is feeling down."

"Oh. Well, I'm fine."

Prussia didn't believe it, but he didn't press the matter further. The meeting would begin soon and the last thing he needed was to get on his bruder's bad side… Again.

The meeting commenced to the usual standards and quickly developed into a shouting match between England and America (surprise, surprise). The topic of conversation? Global currency. America as usual had some obscene idea for a tattoo barcode that could work as a sort of credit card scanner, eliminating the need for physical money.

"I'm telling you Iggy, with this we can easily keep track of all the money that people spend and make."

"Oh yes? And what about hackers then? If they get hold of any way to break the codes the whole system will come tumbling down!"

"Aw, dude! We'll just put up a few monitoring things and then we can bust the guy who even thinks about it. Oh! Dude. Mind reading police. We can totally catch any guy who even considers stealing or hacking or-"

"You idiot, that's a scientific impossibility! Where did you even get this?"

"You know that book? 19-whatever?"

"I didn't even know you could read. It's just a story, Alfred! How the bloody hell do you expect to pull it off?"

"…Mutation?"

"Oh, like hell that would ever, could ever work you bleeding-"

_Beep._

America glanced down at his digital watch. "Hey, it's lunch time."

England sat down with a sigh from where he'd been standing as America dashed for the door, desperate to get away and get some food.

Prussia stayed where he was as all the other nations dispersed for a much needed meal. His leg was numb again, going up to the top of his thigh and the toes on his other foot were feeling slightly strange as well. If he got up now there was a very strong possibility that he might fall over. Not that anyone would notice, but it was the principle of the thing. So he sat alone in the room, leaning on his folded arms, having a staring contest with Gilbird and waiting for the others to return.

Okay so he wasn't entirely alone, Canada was still there, but that didn't really count. "Hey Gil? Aren't you going to go for lunch?"

Prussia didn't even look up from his bird when he replied, "Not hungry. Yes! You blinked!" He pumped his fists in victory. The bird blinked in confusion before fluttering up to take a seat on Prussia's head. He nestled in, making the man. He reached up to stroke Gilbird feeling the soft feathers tickle the palm of his hand. "Kesese, you almost had me that time."

"You sure?" Canada interrupted, "I could pick something up for you if you want."

"Like I said, I'm not hungry." Prussia's stomach grumbled in disagreement. They both stared at it, a smile tugging at Canada's mouth. "Okay, so maybe I'm a little hungry."

"Then come with me."

Prussia studied Canada's eager face. He hated having to lie to the kid, but he didn't want to seem weak, even in front of someone half his age. There was only one thing to do. "I can't, my leg fell asleep so I can't walk."

"Oh, well I'll bring something back for you then."

"Thanks." He turned his attention back to the bird, taking off his head and letting it perch on his finger while he rearranged it's feathers into something vaguely resembling a mo-hawk.

Canada watched in amusement for a moment before a thought entered his mind. "Er- if you don't mind me asking, why do you come to these meetings? It's not like you have any obligation to be here."

The ex-nation turned in his chair and leaned his arm on the backrest casually. "Well," he drawled, "When you don't do anything but eat pancakes and go drinking with a pedophile and a rapist, you kinda look forward to being in a room full of people."

The blonde laughed quietly. "So if Spain is a pedophile and France is a rapist then where does that leave you?"

Prussia gave it some though before responding quite frankly, "I'm the pervert."

Canada chuckled. "Okay then. Well if you change your mind I'm going to be at-"

He bent over, clutching his stomach and gritting his teeth. His eyes closed tightly as he began to tremble. Mein Gott, now what?

Prussia stood from his chair, placing Gilbird back onto his head, and watched the young nation as he fell to his knees and the trembling worsened to a clearly visible shaking. Okay, maybe this was a little worse then the last time.

"Hey - um - Birdy?" He stepped forward.

Canada held out a hand and motioned for his friend to stop. One violet eye opened and looked up at him. "I-I'm fine."

He took in a shaky breath and pulled himself to his feet. The other eye opened and he smiled weakly in what Prussia supposed was meant to be reassurance. But it didn't look all that reassuring.

"I-I have to go. If anyone asks then tell them… I don't know, tell them something unavoidable came up, 'kay?"

"Um, sure," Prussia knew just as well as Canada did that no one would ask after him, but somehow he just wasn't thinking about that at the moment. With that little bit of reassurance to hold on to, Canada nodded his thanks and walked away, still clutching his stomach with one hand.

Prussia watched him go and as he watched he wondered. What the hell was wrong with the kid?

~o~

"I don't f*cking care, I'm not doing it!"

Gilbert slammed the door to his brother's house and stomped down the steps to the driveway. A frown was frozen on his face and he muttered obscenities in every language he knew (and there were quite a few). A stolen key ring dangled from his fingers, swinging gently as he walked to his brother's car. Unjustified anger fogged his mind and creased his brow.

Upon reaching the car he grabbed the handle and tugged at it. When the door didn't open he groaned in frustration and let his head fall onto the overly warm side of the car. He could feel the metal burn his skin, so keeping one hand on the handle he quickly unlocked the door and pulled his head off the metal of the car. He flung open the door and pulled himself inside. The air was warm and stale and the interior was heated to a more then uncomfortable degree, only adding to his awful mood.

He turned the car on and rolled down the window to let some fresh slightly cooler air in and get rid of the lingering smell. For someone who was so anal about cleaning, his brother sure kept a messy car. Garbage littered the floor in the back and something had melted on the dashboard, leaving behind a clump of hardened wax.

Okay, so most of it was his doing, but he really felt like blaming his brother for something.

After backing out of the driveway, narrowly missing the mailbox, he made his way across country.

There was really no reason to be angry at all, but the amounting frustration of disappearing, as well as a sneaking feeling that he was forgetting something, had made his extremely irritable. The fact that West had wanted him to do some minor paperwork, just because he had attended the meetings, had been just enough to push him over the edge.

Okay, he had sort of lost it and he would definitely feel the repercussions later, but just felt so good to vent all that anger on his brother. After all, the disappearing thing was sort of because of him. He wasn't trying to point fingers, but if you asked him it was Ludwig's fault.

In any case, he was still fuming and if there was one thing that could calm him down it was the soft, fluffy warmth of pancakes dribbled with sticky syrup and washed down with a good, cold German beer. And of course for that there was only one place he could go.

Canada's home was warm. Warmer then he thought it could ever get. He wasn't one of those people who thought all Canadians lived in igloos, but come on. It was really hot. People sat on their porches with drinks, fanning themselves with hats and books and looking like they could melt at any second.

When he arrived at Matthew's house he parked on the grass, under the shade of an oak tree. He turned off the car and stepped out into the sweltering heat. Matt's house sat on a well-tended lawn, surrounded by trees to keep out unwanted attention. Red tulips, shot through with gold, lined a walkway to the entrance, most likely saved from the recent Tulip festival.

What? The awesome Prussia could pay attention to stuff like that if he wanted to.

He walked past the bright flowers to the large wood doors. He contemplated knocking, but decided to go ahead in as he'd done so many times before. So he found the fake rock he knew was in the garden and popped out the bottom, revealing –

Huh. The key was gone. He turned back to the door, throwing the false rock over his shoulder. He scanned the porch and racked his brain for any clues of where the key had been hidden.

A glint caught his eye as he looked in a potted plant. He turned and smiled. On top of the doorframe. He strode back to the door and reached up. His smile widened when he felt the cool metal with the tips of his fingers. His hand tightened around the key and he pulled it down. No one could hide things from him.

He turned the key in the lock and, upon hearing the click, pushed the door open. He pocketed the key and walked into the open front hall. It was silent in the house, but he knew the young country was home. Where else would he be?

Gilbert walked through the house, peering through open doors and listening in at closed ones, but there was no sign of the Canadian anywhere. He stood on the top floor landing and frowned. Where was the kid? There were only so many places he could be in the house. He sighed. There was the possibility that he was in his room asleep. The door was closed and he wasn't exactly feeling too good the last time he had seen him. Oh yeah. That's what he had forgotten.

He turned around to face the door to a bedroom. He wasn't sure if it was Matthew's or not, after all every country had an astounding amount of guest rooms, but there was only one way to find out. It wasn't locked, but he didn't want to just barge in. He looked at the door for a while, weighing his options.

Eventually he came to a decision. Screw decency.

He flung the door open to reveal an empty guest room. The next room was the same. And so was the next one.

At the fourth room he opened the door to reveal a dimly lit guest room. Thick curtains were drawn letting in only the smallest amount of light and made it difficult to make out the figure in the bed.

He walked over to get a better look. The person in the bed was the right size to be Matthew and his face was the same, but his hair was cropped short and had a reddish tinge to it. His face was slightly thinner then Canada's, now that he thought about it, and his skin pale making the dark bruises under his eyes more prominent.

Who was this kid and what was he doing in Matthew's house?

Blue eyes opened tiredly and slowly focused on Gilbert's face. He blinked a few times before smiling happily. "Hey, Gil."

Prussia stared at the kid and, always knowing the right thing to say in any situation, said, "Who the hell are you?" Smooth.

The boy's smile disappeared quickly and his brow furrowed in confusion. "You don't know me," he said slowly as though just figuring something out.

"Damn right I don't know you."

The boy nodded in understanding and struggled into a sitting position. He grimaced in discomfort and turned to look at Gilbert again. "I'm Newfoundland."

Newfoundland. Newfoundland. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite remember from where. "You're gonna have to give me another hint here, kid."

"I was a part of Canada."

And then he remembered. He had seen something about this on the news several months back. Another Province had split from Canada to become it's own nation, but wasn't fairing very well. How could he forget?

"Oh yeah. I heard you weren't doing very well."

The boy scoffed. "I was for a little while. But then Matt cut me off. Then I moved in with Jean and got much better, but… He's not the easiest person to get along with."

"Jean? You mean that Quebec guy?"

"Y-yeah." His voice cut off into a fit of dry coughs that bent him over in the bed. It lasted for a good minute before he regained the use of his lungs. "Matt said I could stay with him because I wasn't feeling well and he didn't want me to be alone."

The kid had a strange feel to him. He looked to be about seventeen, but something about him made his seem so much older. But whenever he spoke he was like a child; scared of the monsters in his closet and afraid of the dark. It was like his body had aged, but his mind had remained young. It reminded him of Russia only not quite as creepy.

"Oh, well," he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "I was kind of looking for Birdy. You know where he is?"

Newfoundland opened his mouth to reply, but only a rasping cough came out, so he nodded instead.

"Great! And where might the little maker of pancakes be?"

The boy coughed one last time and said, "He's probably in his study fighting with Jean. That's where he usually is lately."

Gilbert thanked Newfoundland and left, closing the door behind him. Those blue eyes watched him go. What was with Matt's people and their creepy eyes? It freaked him out.

On his way down the stairs Prussia slipped. He gasped as his foot came to land on the next step down with a thud. His heart hammered in his ears and he berated himself for getting so scared of something so small.

He blamed it on his foot. He could feel the tingling numbness creeping it's way up his shin to his knee. West was forgetting about their argument and fast. Once no one was thinking about him he knew that his leg would hardly be able to support his weight. He sat down there on the steps and began rubbing his leg, willing it to regain its strength and feeling. Soon enough it was safe enough to walk again and he stumbled down the last few steps.

The hallway was still quiet, but even without a voice to guide him, he knew the way to the study well. He'd been there enough times to know his way around the house blindfolded. In no time he was standing in front of the oak door that led to the study.

Prussia pressed his ear against the cool wood and sure enough he head voices on the other side, deep in argument. He was about to pull away to open the door, but he stopped as bits of the conversation made their way through the wood and to his ear. He strained his ears to hear more and was rewarded with secrets he had never expected to exist.

* * *

><p>New chapter! Also short chapter.<p>

Social life (yes I do have one) + Fail second scene + I can't write normal conversations = long wait And there is my apology to you.

I find it difficult to write casual conversations (or to even have one) so I ended up rewriting the second scene several times which meant that it took me quite a while to get to the third scene, which I must say is fairly well written. This story really seems to skip through time a lot, but that's the only way I can get to the good stuff in less then fifty chapters.

Estimated chapters... 17. About. Not set in stone.

And yes, I have added Prussia to the characters list cause he actually has a pretty big part in all of this and I felt bad leaving him out. Love you Prussia!

Anyways, in case you don't know, every year Holland/Netherlands/whatever you wanna call it sends tulip bulbs as a thanks for helping them out in the war. Using these thousands of tulips we hold a festival on Ottawa every March. I've never been, but I would really like to see it.

Something you should know about these chapter names is that they are all (except the first one) lines from a choir song called Vois sur ton Chemin, see upon your path, by Les Choiristes. I suggest you listen to it, it's very haunting and I love it. It was the song that inspired this story. Sort of.

DO NOT OWN HETALIA! there I said it. Now I can't get sued.

...Please review


	6. Chapter 5: Nursery Rhymes

**Les Comptines**

~o~

He crouched there in the hall unheard and unseen. White hair fell over his forehead and into his eyes, but he took no notice, preferring instead to listen. With his ear pressed against the door to Matthew's study, Gilbert could hear nearly every word spoken between them.

Canada's voice was whisper quiet and Gilbert couldn't quite make out all that was said, but Quebec's voice was crystal clear and dagger sharp.

"As long as he remains in your house, you have power over him that was granted to me in the agreement." He sounded slightly angry, but there was that constant undertone of contempt that he found was always present no matter what the topic.

Jean crossed the room and paced as he always did, refusing to sit unless he had the upper hand. And it was becoming more and more common.

"I was worried about him," Matthew's voice was controlled, but wavered slightly at the end betraying his desperation, "He's getting worse again and he refuses to tell me why."

"I know he's getting worse, that's the way I want it."

There was a brief pause and for a moment Prussia was worried they might know he was there, but soon enough Matthew spoke again. "What is happening?"

Jean scoffed lightly before replying. "I made a few minor adjustments to our agreement."

"What kind of adjustments?"

"Mathieu, this is really none of your-"

"Of course it's my business!" Gilbert jumped slightly at the seemingly sudden outburst. But quickly he pressed his ear back up to the door, eager to hear more. There was a small sigh. "He's my brother and so are you. I care about him and in order to help him I need to know what you're doing to him."

"… I'm cutting him off."

"What do you mean by cutting him off?"

"I'm cutting Newfoundland off from my government. His land still gets protection, services, and money. It's only him who is effected."

Matthew's fists tightened and he looked directly into his brother's eyes. "Why the hell would you do that?"

Prussia could almost hear the smirk in Jean's voice when he spoke, "A country only needs one representation. You of all people should understand that." Oh Gilbert hated the boy. He hated him so much at that comment, that sly little remark that he nearly burst into the room to punch him in the face, but he restrained himself. It wouldn't do to lose his temper again, not when he wanted to find out what was happening to his friend.

He would have to save his fury for later when he could get the boy away from Matt.

"And so you think you have the power to decide things beyond our control? You can't just make people disappear!"

Quebec studied Matthew's face chewing his lip thoughtfully. He stepped closer and placed his hand on the other's cheek lightly. "I was always envious of you, you know. But looking back I can't quite remember why." He leaned in closer stopping only a few inches away from his face. "I really had no reason to be: you were forgotten, I was _Maman_'s favourite, Papa spent more time with me and everyone else hated you." Gilbert held his breath. "Hm. Perhaps it was your eyes, so beautiful, oui? Just like _Maman_'s."

Matthew closed his eyes as though to keep Jean from taking them away. Of course Quebec's eyes were just as beautiful, perhaps more so, but he had always wanted whatever was not his. And though his eyes changed with the light he still felt they could be even better.

So with a shaky breath he said "Mom's eyes were green."

There was a sneer on Jean's lips as he pulled away and he turned away to hide it. He walked across the room and away from his brother and Gilbert let out his breath in a silent sigh.

"In any case," Jean continued, "I would appreciate it if you could stay away from what is mine."

"He isn't yours, only his land is."

"And as he represents the land that is mine so to does he belong to me."

It was true, Canada knew it and so did Prussia, but the fact that Jean said it so matter-of-factly simply made the truth seem horrible and ugly.

The boy continued "He will remain at my home until his time is over. I doubt you will ever see him again so I suggest you say your goodbyes soon."

"That is completely ridiculous. You have no right to be so selfi-" A burst of wet coughs cut him off mid-sentence, bending him over the desk. They sounded painful and deep and made Prussia wince. Canada coughed for quite some time, gasping between them and past the coughing and gasping; Gilbert could hear a quiet chuckle.

The coughs grew quieter until they eventually subsided and gave way to a quick, uneven breath. The chuckle subsided as well leaving Prussia wondering what had happened. In the relative quiet, he could hear a slight rustle of cloth over Matthew's breathing.

"N-Nova Scotia?" the voice belonged to Canada through it was hard to tell. It was suddenly very raspy and frightened.

Quebec chuckled again. "So they've finally begun. I was beginning to wonder if they had given up."

"Why are you doing this?" Quebec raised one perfect eyebrow at the question. "You have enough land without New Brunswick and Nova Scotia and we gave you independence without a fight so why are you attacking?"

"Well first of all, I hate you. I thought that much was obvious. And, they trained for a fight and grew bored when one did not occur so I sent them in for what they wanted. Isn't that our duty as a country? To give the people what they want? Besides," he shrugged, "I could always use more land."

Another cough, "You used to be a good person."

"And you are just a child who doesn't need his imaginary friends anymore. Some things change and it's up to use to decide what those things will be. You also used to be younger then me. You used to be noticed, you used to fight back, but time has changed you and time has changed me. No doubt that things will change again before our countries fall and we die, but until then we might as well just get used to things_. C'est la vie._" He stopped suddenly, breathing hard and he quickly looked down with wide eyes.

"_Je suis desole, mon frere_," he said quietly.

"_Je comprende," _Matthew replied.

They stood in silence for a good minute, Jean refusing to look at Matt, but soon enough he regained his composure and looked up. A chair creaked as he sat down.

They watched each other closely for a little while before Matthew decided to break the silence. "Maybe I was wrong about you," he muttered, "Maybe you were always like this. I just needed you so badly that I never saw it."

"Mm… Perhaps."

After a short pause there was a muttered question, too quiet for Gilbert to hear. When Jean responded there was an amused tone to his voice. "I do not know. Maybe all of it. It's all up to my people; they can be so greedy at times. Getting worried Mathieu?"

The conversation continued in a very subdued manner and much of it in French (no, he didn't know French. Big deal). Prussia sat back on his heels. So that was why Matt had been acting so strangely, anyone would if they were at war. But why hadn't he told anyone? Canada's family may not have noticed him often, but anyone could see that they were very close and America was certainly due for another major war sometime soon.

He was obviously missing something major.

There was nothing he wanted more then to go into that room, grab Matthew by the shoulders and shake some sense into the boy, but he had to wait. With Quebec in there it would be impossible to get anything out of him. He would have to bide his time.

He glanced around the hallway. So often had he been there that he had never noticed much about it, like how there were no pictures on the walls or how the floor was wood rather then carpeted. Now that he thought about it the hall, and the rest of the house, were just as unremarkable as the person who lived in it. There was nothing at all to give the place character other then the things that had been given to the kid by other people.

Then Gilbert noticed a framed picture down the hall that he hadn't noticed before, half hidden in darkness. He stood and walked over to get a closer look. It was not a photograph as he had thought, but an oil painting, framed with dark wood and out of place in the plain house.

The painting depicted a large flight of marble stairs in a well-lit hall that seemed vaguely familiar. Sitting on the steps in three rows were eleven people, not quite children but not old enough to be adults. They all looked very similar in their faces and hair, some more then others and all of them were wearing bright white clothes that looked like they came from a different century entirely.

And he recognized two of them.

Matthew and Jean sat side by side in the back row, dead centre. Without his glasses Canada looked even more like Quebec, as well as the fact that his hair was much wavier then Prussia had ever seen it. Jean's eyes were a cool blue in the direct light and he looked much happier and younger, but he seemed to be older then Matthew. In the row in front of them there were five and in front of them, four, each row getting progressively younger until three of the four in the front row looked to be only eight or nine years old.

Were these Canada's provinces? How many did he have? No. They couldn't be; Newfoundland, one of the very few he had seen face-to-face, was not there. He did vaguely recognize most of them, although it was probably because of their similarities to Matthew as he was now.

A sound from the study caught his attention. Gilbert turned and, seeing no one there, walked cautiously back to the room.

Even without putting his ear to the door he could hear shouting. It was impossible to tell who it was or what it was about through the door, but he didn't dare enter for fear that whoever might turn their anger on him.

Soon the shouting stopped, replaced by a loud fit of coughing. There was a short pause and then the coughing resumed, muffled and quiet. Something was muttered between the coughs and Gilbert could hear rustling, a chair, footsteps…

The door opened. Prussia moved quickly, pressing himself into an alcove next to the door next to a plant stand and watched as Jean stepped out of the room, a dog in tow, straightening his clothes and looking rather pleased with himself. He turned and stalked off down the hall, but not before whispering almost inaudibly, "You're up." and glancing at the alcove with a smug grin.

Gilbert stepped out into the open after the boy had gone. He had looked at him. Seen him. How long had he known he was there? Had he known the whole time? The prospect made him shiver.

The study door was still open so he looked inside. The place was obviously made for comfort, not style. The shelves and desk were a mismatch of redwoods and dark woods and the whole room was lit by a single lamp on the desk. Behind the desk sat Matthew coughing into a snow-white handkerchief. Tracks of tears marked his cheeks.

Gilbert walked in, watching the coughs rack his friend's body and bending him over the desk painfully. He walked over and stood facing him, waiting for the coughing to stop.

When it did he didn't look up, but simply stared at the handkerchief placidly. Then he said, "I moved that key for a reason you know."

Gilbert smirked and tossed the key onto the desk. "Yeah, I know." It landed with a clatter and sat there untouched. "But my awesomeness detected it anyways."

He righted a chair that had been lying on its side by the desk and sat down, watching Matthew with a forced smile. The boy stared at the key on the desk as though waiting for it to grow legs and walk over to him. When it didn't he turned his violet gaze on his friend and muttered hoarsely, "How much did you hear?"

"… Enough."

He looked down at the key again. "You weren't supposed to hear anything." His voice wavered slightly and he pulled the handkerchief to his mouth and coughed again. A grimace was on his face when he pulled it away.

"What the f*ck were you thinking? Why didn't you tell anyone?" he said, giving up on the self control preferring to shout instead. Never had he seen his friend like this and it rattled him horribly.

"I didn't want anyone to worry. This is my problem and I don't want to drag anyone else into it."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I mean, come on! People are gonna find out sooner or later; it's bound to be on the news at some point."

"It was."

He sat back. That's right. He saw it didn't he. Images of people fighting, of people dying. He heard them announce the takeover of New Brunswick just a few days ago and thought nothing of it. He simply forgot. But how? It wasn't like war was a difficult thing to remember, but then again this was Canada.

"Gil?"

Prussia looked up to see Matt looking at him with concern. What the hell? He should be the one who was concerned not Birdie.

"How long?" he asked suddenly.

"P-pardon?"

"I said, how long?"

The boy sighed and glanced away, thinking. "About a month now, but he's been talking about it for nearly a year."

"How the hell did he take over a whole province in a single month?"

"I don't know."

"He's only been around for a year and a half, how could he have built an army so strong so fast?"

"I don't know."

"Where did he get all these people? I mean-"

"I don't know!" Gilbert started at the harshness of the kid's voice. Very few times had he ever raised his voice against anyone and it was usually America who was on the other end. He sat silently while Matthew continued. "I don't know how he did it. I don't know why he did it. And I certainly don't know how I'm going to beat him." His voice was so calm and controlled that it scared him a little. This wasn't Canada. Canada wouldn't shout or let himself get beaten by someone so much weaker. Canada wouldn't lie like this.

This wasn't Canada, this was Matthew Williams and right now Matthew Williams was scared.

"Let me help you."

"What?"

The statement had surprised them both and it took a moment for Gilbert to realize what he had said. "Let me help you beat the b*st*rd. I could get the whole damn German army over here." And as he spoke a plan formed in his head.

"Well, thank you, but I don't think-"

"What, do you want to get your *ss kicked some more? Let me help you."

He looked uncertain for a moment, but soon he came to a decision. "Okay."

"Great!" He clapped his hands and rubbed them together as the plan in his mind grew. "But, I'm gonna need something in return."

Matthew didn't even twitch. He had been expecting something like that, Prussia assumed. No one did anything for free, certainly not Gilbert.

"What do you want?"

"Land."

That surprised him.

For a country to ask for land from another was rare, but not unheard of. It had always been so valuable that almost all were too greedy or frightened to give it up without starting a war or massive uprising of the people who lived there. It would take some major maneuvering to get Matt, not to mention his boss, to agree. But Gilbert was willing to do what it took to get him to agree.

"Gil, you know I can't-"

"All I'm asking," he said, "Is for a little bit of land. Not much, just enough to get me out of West's basement, kay?" He could tell Canada wasn't buying it so he leaned forward and said as earnestly as he could "To tell you the truth, I need my own place; West is driving me up the wall. Seriously, I need my space and what place better then up here."

It wasn't entirely a lie. He really did want to get away and most of all he wanted to be remembered. If he wasn't forgotten then he wouldn't disappear. And in order to do that he needed some land. A new place given his name and taught his history. Molded in the shape of the great Prussia. Maybe he would be able to get some German immigrants as well to help start with the teaching and construction. It would take time of course and people would need time to get used to it, but he was confident in his abilities to create something from nothing. Oh yes, and German beer would be needed as well.

"No."

"What?"

"I said no. That would be impossible for me. My economy is already plummeting; I need everything I've got right now. I'm sorry," he said, "But I just can't."

"What the f*ck, Birdie! It's not like your land is running out! I mean look at it, each of your territories are bigger than all of f*cking Scandinavia!"

Matt shrank back at the outburst and looked down at the desk sadly. "I'm sorry, I really am, but right now I just can't afford to."

He coughed into his handkerchief again, wincing in pain and glanced down at the cloth before clenching it tightly between pale fingers. He lowered his hand to the desk trembling.

The two sat in an uncomfortable quiet, unsure of what to say.

Maybe this plan wasn't such a good idea, after all it had only been a spur of the moment thing and he couldn't expect it to work without thinking about it for more then two seconds. Things like this needed time and consideration. No. He couldn't give up on it no matter how stupid it was.

Gilbert opened his mouth make his case, to berate his friend some more, but Matthew spoke first.

"Okay."

Wait, what?

"I'll see what I can do."

He sat, mouth open, as the information processed and when it did he smiled widely. "Sweet! Thanks Birdie! I'll get you that army, don't you worry."

"Thanks Gil." Violet eyes looked up from the desk and into red. "I don't know if my Prime Minister will agree, but I'll try my best."

Prussia stood up with a whoop. He reached on hand over and rustled his friend's hair enthusiastically, making Matt smile and wince.

"I gotta go… er… talk to West. He's probably waiting for me."

He wasn't waiting. At that moment no one was thinking about him but Matthew, but he had to go back home at some point and face his brother's fury. Gilbert walked to the door, but was stopped by a hesitant voice.

"Hey, Gil?"

"Yeah?" he turned to look at Matt who seemed to be fighting some inner battle.

"Could you just promise me one thing? Promise me," he swallowed hard and looked away, "Promise me you won't forget?"

"Well… yeah. Sure, I promise."

Matthew smiled slightly and looked up again. "You'd better go then, eh?"

He watched as the albino left with a confused expression on his face. He shouldn't have done that; it just made it all the more awkward, but he needed to know that he wouldn't just forget. He needed that much.

Screams of suffering filled the now empty space in his mind. They had been growing more and more persistent in the past few days and were even present in his dreams now. Well… dream.

He coughed again, feeling the pain at the back of his neck grow with each choking spasm. The white handkerchief was at his mouth again in an instant, muffling the noise. Even after he had stopped he held the cloth to his mouth still, not wanting to see the spreading stain of red.

Jean could hear the screams too.

They echoed in the vast space of his mind, lined with memories that were not his, and he loathed it. Up in Newfoundland's temporary room he could see the expanse of the yard and the trees that fronted the house. He could also see someone leaving. He saw the person walk to a car that did not belong there and watched as the person searched through his pockets for the keys. He saw the person disappear into the car and watched as it vanished in the foliage that surrounded the driveway.

Behind him in the room all that could be heard was the slow, deep breathing of a sleeping person. An occasional grunt or even a word was spoken as the boy's dreams unfolded. Jean turned to watch his brother's sleeping face, brow twitching and eyes darting behind closed lids. He was no doubt dreaming of the riots that were occurring on his island, riots that were being controlled by Jean's own police.

He didn't want to do this to him, he really didn't like to be so cruel, but if the boy no longer existed then he would not feel the pain. Oh, he would sense it all right, but far off and fleeting, the way it had been for the two of them for so many years. He missed the painless world he had been torn from and dearly wished he could go back.

Labrador lay in the light from the window happily basking in the warmth and Jean stepped around the dog careful not to disturb him. Now he stood at the side of the bed watching the sheets rise and fall with each labored breath.

He reached out a hand and brushed a strand of hair out of Newfoundland's face. "_Je suis desole._"

_"Tu n'est pas desoles. Tu n'est jamais desoles._"

Not now, please not now. He had just gotten away from it.

"Please stop, I really don't want this."

"Of course you do. Soon you will be big and powerful and then no one will hurt you ever again."

Jean backed up into the corner, driven by the voice that tormented him. He slid down the wall into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around his knees. "Please just go away. I don't want to hurt Mathieu anymore."

"You're pitiful. You are weak, which is bad, and willing to be weak, which is worse."

"If I'm so weak then how can I fight off you?"

"But you can't. And when you do you don't last long."

"Just go away and leave us all alone. I can't take it anymore."

"Mentally, no. You are too weak for that. But physically you could stand anything, which is why we must conquer."

"I don't want to conquer. I just wanted to exist."

"Useless. Utterly useless. You want to conquer just as we do and you shall thank us."

"Non."

"Yes. And when we are done we shall be more powerful than our little brother."

"He's my big brother now."

"Only because you let him, you pathetic little worm. You were the biggest and now you are small. But not for long."

"_Arête. S'il te plait, arête._"

Jean covered his ears and closed his eyes in an attempt to stop the voice, but it was there in his head to and he couldn't get it out.

"We should have kept the other one, he was stronger then you ever were."

"No he wasn't. I was the strongest. I was the biggest. I was the oldest. They listened to me, they loved me."

"You're deluding yourself. They never even liked you. You were as bad as Ontario."

"_Non_," he whispered. A tear rolled down his cheek and he shook his head slowly in denial. "_Non, non, non, non, non_."

"Stop your useless blubbering! Now get out or you'll wake the boy."

He obliged the voice. He stood up shakily and let his hands drop to his sides. He walked across the room to the door, throwing Newfoundland one last glance before stepping out and into the room across the hall. He closed the door and locked it sadly. No one would hear now. He ignored the bed, preferring instead to sit in the corner again, back pressed firmly against the wall, legs crossed.

Even without the light turned on he could see easily with the light that came in through the window. He stood again and closed the curtains, cutting off the only source of light, or at least dimming it. He sat again in the semi-darkness and listened as the voice continued.

"We can hear the screams," it said with a smile in its tone, "And they are good. They mean we are winning."

"Don't rejoice yet, we may have won the battle, but the war is far from over."

"True. And then there's the other question. What shall be done with Mathieu?"

"What are you talking about?"

"We obviously can't let him live. You will have to dispose of him as soon as the capitol falls."

"I can't."

"You can and you will, you miserable excuse for a nation. He cannot stay so he must go. As long as he is here there is doubt and that is something we cannot allow."

"But he's my brother."

"Our brother, ours. And if you will not do it then I shall have to."

"I have no doubt that you will. You have done so much already."

"And I regret none of it. And neither should you. What we have done is something to be proud of."

"But why can't we just stop? I don't understand why he has to die."

"Because if he lives then he will win and the resistance will defeat us."

"I can feel them. They are a part of me now."

"Then they shall die as well. The police can take care of that easily enough."

"But what if they don't? What if they survive?"

"Then we will take care of them along with Mathieu. And if you refuse then I shall stand proudly alone."

"But you can't get rid of me entirely."

"True, but I can subdue you."

Jean could feel the voice had taken the upper hand, that it was winning and he wouldn't last much longer under the pressure it contained. He closed his eyes and fought harder.

"I can't kill our brother. I just can't."

"And why not? All the others hate him, _you_ hate him, we know that. No one would even notice he was gone."

"Gil would notice."

"Not only will he notice, but he will be happy for it."

"What? Why?"

"Because he has his plans and we have ours."

And Jean felt the fear as he drifted away. As the voice took over. As the plan was shared. And he had never felt so alone, sitting there in the empty room in his artificial night.

* * *

><p>This chapter is badly timed and the flow is a bit off, but that's because I had to go back repeatedly to fix things and make it longer.<p>

I have nothing against Quebec, it's beautiful there and the people are awesome. So I just wanted to let you know that none of the views in this story are mine, strictly the characters opinions not mine. I really want Quebec to stay a part of Canada. Love you Jean!

Translations

_Maman - Mom_

_Je suis desole mon frere - I'm sorry brother_

_Je comprede - I understand_

_Je suis desole - I am sorry_

Tu n'est pas desole. Tu n'est jamais desole. - You're not sorry. You're never sorry.

Arête. S'il te plait, arête - Stop. Please, stop.

And thus is the extent of my French vocabulary. Not really, but close enough.

I don't own Hetalia and I have a feeling that if I did it would be very unpleasant and very violent and disturbing.


	7. Chapter 6: Pocket full of Posy

Chapter 6

Pocket full of Posy

~o~

_ Children ran and sang._

_ They laughed._

_ He was happy._

_ Then everything went wrong._

_ So terribly wrong._

_ And the bells began to toll._

~o~

Nations filled the meeting room with bodies and noise, creating a nearly unbearable hum of white noise. Each of the nations stood in their respective groups discussing this and that and eating snacks from the table in the corner. Seated at the far end of the room Prussia had waited for his friends.

He had arrived early due to the fact that West was his sole mode of transportation and had insisted on leaving early in order to arrive two hours before the meeting was scheduled to begin. After a near sleepless night (those damn dogs wouldn't shut up!) he now fought to keep his eyes open.

He leaned back in his chair and balanced it carefully on two legs with his feet on the polished tabletop. Carefully ignoring the fact that he couldn't feel the table beneath him Prussia let out an irritated sigh. Where were they? At least France should have been there by then, eager to follow his English counterpart anywhere he decided to go, so why were neither he nor Spain anywhere to be seen?

An obnoxious laugh from across the room drew his attention. Wait a second, he knew that laugh, the annoying "hon hon hon." He'd heard it often. Damn it where was that b*st*rd?

He swung his feet down and stood up with a frown. Steadying himself on the table he waited for the feeling to return to his legs and peered past the bodies. Through the crowd it was impossible to see even the wall, so he stepped forward and pushed his way through, following the laugh as well as what he could now make out as Spain's voice.

Soon he came to the edge of the crowd. France stood leaning against a wall by the door and Spain stood across from him with his back to the room. They were both laughing now. Prussia frowned and strode forward, muscling his way past nations.

"What the f*ck!"

Spain turned and gave a wide grin and a wave. "Oh, hola Gil. Where've you been?"

"What the f*ck?" he insisted.

France's smile wavered slightly, but Spain's face didn't even twitch. Apparently his inability to read the mood had come into effect. He would need to be a little more obvious.

"Where the hell were you two?"

"What do you mean, Prusse?"

"F*ck! I've been sitting over there for the past two hours waiting for you."

France's smile disappeared entirely and he pushed himself off the wall and stepped up beside Spain. "We have been here for about fifteen minutes and I for at least half an hour. I guess we just didn't see you."

Was he really that invisible? "What? Half an hour ago the room was nearly empty; how did you come in without seeing me?"

"_Je ne sais pas_. How did you not see me when I came in?"

"Sh*t, I don't know, I guess I wasn't watching. But it's not my fault, we always meet over there."

Spain looked slightly confused. "But you've been so busy lately I didn't think you wanted to hang out with me. With us."

"Well, just ask me alright 'cause that seriously wasn't awesome."

"Er, yeah. Sure."

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "Good." With that he turned, determined to ignore the two for the rest of the day, but as he strode away a stray memory drifted into his thoughts. Birdie.

He made a quick u-turn and walked back the short distance. "Hey France, d'you know where Birdie might be?"

"Who?"

"Canada."

"Oh, mon petit Mathieu. Non, I have not seen him for quite some time. Perhaps you should ask l'Angleterre or l'Amerique. They might have seen him."

"Thanks." And then he walked away, never to talk to France again. Not really, but that's what he told himself.

The meeting began hesitantly and was soon underway. Prussia kept an eye on America and England trying to decide whom to ask. He weighed the options carefully. America, Pros: lives nearby, talks to him more, won't forget who they were talking about every few seconds. Cons: is loud, obnoxious, annoying, distracted, and so on. England, Cons: lives far away, doesn't talk to him as much, will forget him often and thinks himself above Prussia in all matters. Pros: not America.

Right, England it was.

Using his growing invisibility and inarguable awesomeness he snuck a few seats over to where the Brit was sitting fiddling with a pen. "_Psst_." he didn't move. "_Pssssssssssst_!" Nothing. Prussia leaned in so that his mouth was right next to England's ear. "Pst!"

The pen broke spraying blue ink all over his shirt and paper. "Bloody hell!"

Everyone looked over, stopping America mid-rant. England cast a quick glare at Prussia before turning to the room. He raised his hands and said "Sorry. Terribly sorry. Broke a pen. Just go back to… whatever you were doing."

They all looked back to America who seemed rather irritated. Germany cleared his throat and gestured for America to continue. His annoying voice filled the room again and England looked back at Prussia.

"_What?_" he hissed

"_Where's Birdie?_"

"_Who?_" He dabbed at his shirt distractedly.

"_Canada._"

"_Uh…_"

"Mattie, Matthew, the other kid you raised!"

"_Shhhhh!_"

"_What? No one's gonna hear me. Do you know who Matthew is?_"

"_'Course I do. What about him?_"

"_Good. Where is he?_"

"_What? Isn't he here?_"

"_Yes, I just want to know which chair he sits in. Of course he's not here!_"

He frowned. "_Well you don't have to shout. Dear lord, this is never coming out. I liked this shirt._"

"_Whatever. Never mind._"

Prussia straightened up and started to walk away.

"_Wait._"

He rushed back over and fell to his knees beside the Brit's chair. "_Yeah?_"

"_He called this morning – no idea how he got my hotel number – and said he wouldn't be coming, something about stomach pains. Probably ate too much maple syrup, he always has, eats it by the bucket load._"

"_Yeah, sure, great, thanks. Listen, if he calls again tell him I need to talk to him, 'kay?_"

"_Erm, yes. Of coarse. By the way, I'm sending you my dry cleaning bill._"

He decided to ignore that last part. "Yeah, thanks." With that he stood up and unsteadily walked back to his chair. His legs had fallen asleep and they prickled with each step he took making him stumble slightly. He fell back into his seat with a sigh and waited for the meeting to end.

America remained at the front of the room for the next ten minutes or so presenting increasingly ridiculous ideas. Everyone had settled in for it, and was expecting the usual, so when he reached page three and became suddenly serious they all sat up with renewed interest.

He leaned forward with his hands on the table and looked at them all over his glasses looking more serious then anyone could ever remember him being. "Walt Disney, one of the greatest minds in the world, made a lot of people happy." His voice was low and serious so that despite what he had just said they all kept their attention on him. "He also created the famous song and ride, _It's a Small World._ Giving the phrase and the source careful consideration I have decided that we should do what he said."

They all waited for him to fill them in, but he didn't say anything else. Eventually Germany spoke up. "And that is?"

America looked at him incredulously. "Make the world smaller."

England cracked. "What? That is completely ridiculous!" They all sat back again ready for the long-winded "debate" that had already begun.

"I think it makes sense. I mean that ride made so many people happy so in theory so should this."

"Any world where I have to live closer to you is definitely not a happy place!"

Prussia's eyes wandered. In an attempt to keep his mind off of Canada he tried to imagine what each of them were thinking about. Russia stared across the table at the wall without really seeing it making Italy and Japan extremely uncomfortable. For all anyone knew he was thinking of fish-sticks and cranberry pudding being eaten by a unicorn. Poland was obviously thinking of a million ways to kill Russia with his own pipe and possibly a piano string. Pleasant. Germany was probably wishing that the fight would end soon so he could take over the meeting again in that anal way of his.

Prussia continued until his eyes fell on an empty chair. Wait. He looked around and found a second chair empty. One of them was Canada's, but who's was the other? In his mind he checked off each of the nations in his head. One was missing. France. Probably just stepped out for something, he thought. A smirk grew on his face as he wondered what he could have stepped out for. The possibilities that he came up with made the smirk grow into a smile and soon a laugh that he had to suppress.

Just as the argument grew to it's peak and Prussia thought he would burst out laughing there was a crying shout from through the door. Silence ruled for a few brief seconds and another shout broke it. They could just make out the word that was cried. "Help!"

Surprisingly England was the first one out the door at the sound of France's voice. Everyone else followed closely and Prussia shoved his way past them. He reached the front and broke through into the hall. He hurried toward the voice and followed it through the front door and into the bright sunlight. A brick path cut through the expansive lawn in front of the building and England stood behind a bent figure. It amazed him that France's voice had reached the meeting room from all the way out there, but it had and there had to be a reason.

Prussia moved closed to peer over England's shoulder. France's body was still in the way and when the crowd of nations reached them he had no answer to their questions of what was going on. England backed up as France stood, bumping into Prussia who had been pushed closed by the curious crowd. The Frenchman cupped his hands carefully under something small and white and looked extremely upset. In his hands was a tiny bird only slightly bigger then Gilbird, it's wings twitching and it's body wricking with painful spasms.

The others seemed a bit disappointed, but Prussia's love of birds made him more sympathetic. He stepped up beside his friend and watched the bird do its mad dance. "What's wrong with it?"

France shook his head. "_Je ne sais pas._"

England appeared on his other side, his face slightly confused. "Okay, I'm sorry but I am completely lost. What is that?"

"_C'est Pierre, mon petit oiseau._"

"Yes I can see that, but… why?"

"He is a part of me. I felt odd, so when _l'Amerique _began his presentation I slipped out for a drink of water. Something felt wrong. I stepped outside to check on Pierre, make sure he was okay, and when I got to him he was like this."

"What do you mean by a part of you?"

France looked slightly flustered. "He represents some islands that I own just north of _l'Amerique._"

In Prussia's head something clicked. "So, does that mean something is happening to those islands?"

"Do you mean like an attack? _Mon Dieu,_ it could be. But who?"

"That new fellow, erm-" England looked up as he searched for the name. He snapped his fingers, "Quebec. Doesn't he live up there?"

"_Oui,_ I kept the islands so that I could keep an eye on him and _Mathieu._ But he would never do something like that. What could he possibly gain from taking the islands?"

Land, thought Prussia, Power.

He left the two of them to toss ideas around and searched the crowd of nations that was steadily growing smaller as they lost interest and went back inside.

If his hunch was correct then it was Quebec who was attacking the islands and that meant those stomach pains England had mentioned were probably not from eating a whack load of maple syrup as his friend was prone to do. He needed to go make sure though.

He and his brother were close enough to Warsaw to drive rather then take a plane and taxi, so Prussia started off for the car. On the way he bumped shoulders with Germany who was hurrying over to a terror stricken Italy. He heard a muttered apology and watched his brother walk away completely unaware of what had just happened. With a smile, Prussia turned and made his way to the car tossing in his hand the keys he had just stolen from Germany's pocket.

~o~

A knock at the door drew Matthew's attention away from his phone call. Several more very urgent knocks came from the front door.

A question came from the phone and he put it back to his ear. "Sorry, what did you say? … No there's someone at the door." The knocks got louder. "I think so… Okay, I'll tell him if it is. Bye."

He hung up and dropped the phone on his desk with a sigh. Nothing was going right. Kumajirou managed to lift his head off his paws and he blinked sleepily as he watched his friend leave the room. He considered going with him, but he wasn't feeling the greatest either so instead he just lay his head back down and settled back into his nap.

The knocking continued nonstop and Canada hurried down the hall. When he reached the door he could see the shadow of a grown man through the windows on either side. The door opened to reveal Gilbert still in his uniform and wearing a confused face. Before Matthew could say a word, Prussia walked in closing the door behind him.

"Sh*t, Birdie, when'd it get cold?"

"W-what?"

"Last time I was here it was hot as hell, but now it's like…"

"Hell froze over?" Canada supplied.

"Yeah. I mean I can see my f*cking breath out there when last time I was sweating bullets."

"You're exaggerating."

"Whatever. All I'm saying is that if it gets that cold in just two weeks then I think you need to do something about it."

"It's September. You were here a month ago, not two weeks. Anyways the people up here are used to the weather changes. There should be another heat wave before October." Gilbert snickered. "What?"

"Dude, you have hot flashes."

He rolled his eyes, turned and walked into the living room leaving his friend to follow. They sat down on the couch and he let Prussia ramble for a while about his epic escape from the meeting and his newfound invisibility making him even more awesome then ever by giving him cool stealth abilities and… Wait a second.

"Wait, did you say invisibility?"

"Uh…" He stopped for a moment and Matthew could nearly see the gears turning in his head as he realized what he had said. "Anyways, that's not important," he covered, "I came here to talk to you about Quebec."

Matthew sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Do we really have to talk about this now? First time I talk to a friend in nearly a month and I have to talk about this again."

"What? Sh*t Birdie, I seriously need to talk to you about this now."

Another sigh. "Fine. What is it, what's he done now?"

"Something happened to France."

That caught Canada's attention and he immediately looked up. "What happened?"

"I don't know. Something about islands, he said they were north of America and I just figured-"

"Maple," he cut in, "Saint Pierre and Miquelon. They were close to Newfoundland. And you think Jean did this?"

"Well, yeah. I mean who else could it be?"

Matthew sighed again and looked down at his hands. "… Yeah, it was him."

"The stomach pain you told Eyebrows about last night… That was him too wasn't it?"

A nod. "PEI. It didn't take very long though. We didn't have the time to get anyone out there so there was no resistance."

"We have to tell someone."

"No!" He looked up into Gilberts ruby eyes, his own eyes wide. "We can't tell anyone."

"Come on! What else can we do? I mean, you're obviously to scared to do anything about it yourself!"

"I'm doing everything I can! Most of my military were on a peacekeeping mission in the Middle East and we've only just gotten them back. I had half an army and Quebec had massive numbers of people fighting for him."

"There's a question. Where did he get those people? It's not like you become a country and then poof! There's an army, have a nice day!"

"I don't know where they came from." Matthew's eyes flickered away for half a second and then he stood up. "I knew he had supporters from the beginning." He began to pace. "But I just didn't know he had that many."

"How many?"

"Lots." he said simply.

"And how many do you have?"

"… More then he does, but-"

"Well then just storm the capitol and demand you're land back! He can't kill all of them."

"I can't do that."

"Why the hell not?"

"I just can't!" He stopped pacing and turned to face his friend. "You just don't get it because you're not a country anymore! Would you attack Germany? No! And why? Because he's your brother, because you watched him grow up and you helped him when he needed it and you can't stand the thought of hurting him! I have brothers too!"

"Ouch." Gilbert said quietly. "Low blow, dude."

Canada's gaze softened as he realized what he's said. He hadn't meant it. But it had hit hard. Uncertain of what to say he just looked down and crossed his arms nervously.

A small clacking sound came from the hall. They both looked over to the doorway where Kumajirou stood blinking groggily. The bear looked between the two of them before slowly making his way over to Matthew. He sat down and looked up at him with beady black eyes. "Who?"

"Canada."

"Oh. Up."

He obligingly leaned over and picked up his friend. Canada looked down at him for a few long seconds and then back up at the man sitting on his couch. Their eyes met briefly and he looked down again.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Prussia gave a strained smile. "S'okay." But it wasn't and Matthew could see that when he reluctantly looked up again. Gilbert's eyes were hard and made him feel terrible about what he had said. He knew that Prussia longed to be a country again and that he was the man's only hope for it. Saying what he did was like saying that it would never happen and it broke his heart to know how much he had really hurt him. It would be impossible to take it back, but he could try to apologize. He just didn't know how.

Although…

"Prussia. On my desk there is an envelope with several sheets in it. I-I still need to finish filling them out, but you can take them and fill out your sections. Bring it back to me as soon as you can."

Gilbert looked up and his eyes widened followed quickly by his smile as he realized what this meant. "You mean…"

Matthew nodded. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as Gilbert's face lit up.

"Yes!" He stood up and pumped his fists in the air excitedly, then charged over snatching Canada up in a big bear hug. All the while he spoke rapidly about being able to count on him and having no more worries ever again and never being sorry about his decision. Then he let out a wild laugh and ran out the door.

The room seemed suddenly so bright and Matthew smiled at it. Nothing seemed bright anymore and no one was very happy. It was good to see a smile again, a true smile.

"Idiot."

He looked down with surprise at the bear in his arms. "Don't say that about him Kumawaro."

"Wasn't talking about him."

Gilbert ran back down the hall, papers in hand and grin on face. He would be a country again! Sure he would never be as big as he once was, but people would remember him and that damn numbness would stop. Even now with the help of his friend his leg was returning to him. It would be great to be alive again.

When he reached the door he skidded to a stop as a thought cross his mind and he turned back to the living room. Matthew was looking down at Kumajirou with an odd expression on his face, but Prussia didn't notice. Instead he slid across the floor and scooped the kid up into another awesome hug and spun him around happily. Canada protested weakly and Gilbert put him down. He smiled insanely and said, "You know, I never _did_ get those pancakes I came here for last time."

"What?"

He put his hands on his friend's shoulders and put on a serious face. "Make me pancakes."

A smile appeared on Matthew's face and he nodded. Prussia whooped and ran for the door. "I'm just gonna put these in the car," he said waving the papers. "Those pancakes better be f*cking awesome!"

"I make no promises."

He ran for the door, already tasting the waffles, and left it open as he burst out into the chilly, autumn air. The car sat on the lawn where the shade would keep it cool (totally unnecessary). He was about to open it when he heard a noise. Muffled music. It seemed to be coming from inside the car and after a moment he recognized it as the ring tone on his cell phone. He must have left it in the car in his hurry to get to the house.

He opened the car door and sifted through the junk he had left in there. Sure it was just a rental, but he had stopped by at a few drive-thru's along the way. Halfway through the filth the music stopped and Prussia paused, listening for it. Nothing. The person must have hung up. Ah well, it was probably just West wondering where his car was, he figured.

So, with a shrug, he dropped the envelope onto the passenger seat and headed back to the house.

When he entered the smell of fresh pancakes greeted his nose and he breathed it in enthusiastically. Damn that kid could cook. He walked through to the kitchen where he found Matthew having a conversation with his bear who appeared to be having trouble remembering who the other was.

"Who?"

"Ca-na-da."

"Who?"

"Matthew, the one who feeds you?"

"Who?"

"Canada! Your life-long friend! Canada!"

"…Who?"

Mattie threw his arms in the air. "Never mind," he said tiredly.

"Having some issues there?"

He turned and smiled at Gilbert sadly. "It happens sometimes. Get the syrup these are almost done."

Prussia obligingly took the nearly empty bottle of maple-syrup out of the fridge and put it on the kitchen table along with some butter where a single plate sat waiting.

"Aren't you having any?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

That was odd. It was well known that Canada was the only person alive who rivaled his brother's eating abilities. He was always willing to eat especially if pancakes or maple was involved. "You feeling okay?"

"Yeah." A lie.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, just some minor economy issues." Another lie.

"How minor?"

"Minor enough not to kill me. Now eat your pancakes."

"Yes, mother." He was willing to ignore Matthew's obvious discomforts for the pancakes that were set before him

The pancakes were golden-brown and delicious. They did nothing to fill him up and just left him wanting more. But he had to go. So he stood, licking the sticky syrup off his fingers, and put his plate in the sink with a clatter. Matthew stood from his place at the table and watched silently, his smile gone.

"When do you think you can get those papers back to me?" he asked hesitantly.

"I dunno," Prussia shrugged, "Sometime soon I guess." He looked at his friend quizzically. "Mind if I ask you something?"

"No."

"If you don't want to hurt him then why are you asking me for an army?"

Matthew looked down. "He's not afraid of me anymore so he doesn't hesitate against my army. I was hoping that he would be scared enough of someone else to just… give in. You know, without too many people getting hurt. It's stupid, I know, but…"

He trailed off and rubbed his arm uncomfortably, unwilling to go on or even look up. After a moment of awkwardness Gilbert shrugged just to show he didn't care, though in truth he really did, and walked to the door with his friend trailing after him.

"I'll see you later. I have to get back to the meeting hall."

"Why do you bother going to those meetings, again?"

Prussia laughed. "Where else am I supposed to find info to blackmail people with?"

Matthew laughed softly in return. "Of course. See you later."

The door closed behind him with a click and Gilbert groaned. What was he going to say to his bruder about the car? It wasn't like he could tell him he went on a ten-hour trip to a hot dog stand. Oh well, he could cross that bridge when he came to it. For the time being he would enjoy the warmth of the pancakes in his belly and the taste of maple in his mouth.

When he got to the car he heard his phone ringing again. Maybe the bridge was a bit closer then he had thought. Gilbert opened the door and searched through the remaining garbage. He found the phone, flipped it open and put it to his ear.

"Bruder, I can explain."

"_Salut, Prusse._ Finally, I've been trying to get through to you for hours."

A shiver ran down his spine at the voice and all the delicious pancakey warmth disappeared. "What do you want?" he asked with dread.

"Just a moment of your time."

* * *

><p>Gasp! What is this? Is it... could it be... It is! It is an update! It is true, I have not given up on it. It would have been out yesterday but nachos happen. I have no idea when the next one will be here so just hold tight.<p>

Yeah I had some issues with this chapter which can probably be seen in it's flow and such. I realized that lately Prussia's been pretty OOC so I tried to fix that in this part. Hope it worked. Tell me what you think. I kinda like it. I also like pancakes :D

The title of this chapter is obviously from the most well known depressing nursery rhyme. And by depressing I mean those nursery rhymes that you think are all happy and nice, but are actually about death, destruction and in this case the plague. I like that too. Not the plague, but depressing nursery rhymes.

So I'm not going to translate every single French phrase because I think you're smart and can figure it out on your own plus I'm lazy. Your welcome.

And one other thing, yes the islands of Saint Pierre and Miquelon are real and I really want to go there. They use francs and need passports and everything. I kid you not.

One last thing. I don't own Hetalia or the islands (wish I did though)


	8. Chapter 7: Jack be Nimble

**Chapter 7**

Jack be Nimble

~o~

Bullets hit the brickwork of the office building in torrents making a man cringe. His friend glanced around the corner when they quieted only to jerk back to avoid another blast. There was no way out of the dead-end street they had been pushed back into so they ground their teeth in frustration and waited for the break that would come when the enemies' would reload their guns. They stood, guns at the ready, waiting for their backup as they had been for the past two hours.

The backup wasn't coming though, every one of the uniformed men and women had been gunned down in the neighboring cities. But they couldn't know that. So, they waited still in the hope that their dead comrades would come to their rescue.

A voice recounted the tragic deaths that the two men would only hear of hours later. If they survived. The voice seemed much too calm in contrast to the sobering story it was telling. The scene moved to a newsroom where a woman in a suit revealed breaking news about a bomb-drop that destroyed tens of thousands of homes in Yellowknife leaving thousands dead and even more injured and homeless.

Gilbert muted the television. He couldn't handle it anymore; the guilt was eating him from the inside out. No one had seen or heard from Matthew for months. It was quite possible that even if he had called them they had forgotten it, but for once he hoped for it. Even with no sign of the northern nation at the meetings Prussia had stopped going for fear that the blonde would decide to show up unexpectedly.

So, here he was, sprawled out on the sofa watching as his young friend fell apart at the seams. A scrawl at the bottom listed off shortages that had been caused by the war and he saw everything from water and fish to paper and cloth. Damn it, he just couldn't shake the feeling that it was all his fault. He sighed. No, not his fault, nothing was ever his fault; it was that damned man who West called a boss. Thanks to that man his leg was beginning to fade again and he had an unshakable feeling of guilt that clung to his very skin.

He brought his hand up and turned off the television. The screen flashed white and then turned to black and he stared at it unmoving. He looked at his own reflection and frowned. Had he always been that pale?

A bang startled him and he looked away from the screen for a moment. West must be back, he figured. It was, after all, his turn to host the month's meeting and he had been gone for the better part of the day.

"Hey, West!" he shouted.

There was a muffled greeting followed by footsteps as his brother moved from the front hallway to the kitchen.

Gilbert paused for a moment and then shouted again. "Hey West, was Birdie there?"

"Who?" came the response.

"Good."

"What?"

"Nothing. Now go have a shower," he cried, "I can smell you from here."

There was a confused silence from the kitchen and Prussia could just see the look on his brother's face as he tried to understand what had just happened. Soon enough, however, the silence was broken by the sound of feet on stairs and a few minutes later the sound of water running through the pipes in the walls.

Gilbert sighed and turned back to the black screen, watching the rise and fall of his own chest and wondering, thinking, doubting constantly. Had he done the right thing?

As a nation (or ex-nation in his case) it was one's duty to make sure one's people were safe and healthy. Every little decision would affect the citizens of the country you represented and it was a nation's job to make sure every decision was for the good of their people.

But theirs wasn't the voice that people listened to. Despite their status they still had to report to their boss and do whatever he told them no matter how ludicrous it seemed. Well, it wasn't exactly his boss; it was his brother's. But all the same he had to listen and he hated it. Every second he spent doing nothing was another part of his memory disappearing. He hadn't gone for a drink with his friends in nearly two months now. Although, he was avoiding them like the plague, but it felt good to blame someone for something.

He sat up suddenly and brought a fist down hard on his left calf. Pain, dull and real pounded in his bone and flesh and he smiled with relief. For a moment he couldn't feel it. Not like the dull tingle from before, but a total numbness that made him think his leg had disappeared entirely. But it was still there and so was he.

Goddamned paranoia.

The shower stopped with a clang and he glanced up momentarily. Ludwig never did have very long showers. Something about conserving the water or something, he hadn't really been paying attention.

Prussia lay back again, one foot hanging off the edge of the couch, the other propped up comfortably and he listened to the noises from upstairs. No. He wasn't gone just yet.

Really, what was he worried about? If all went well he would have land and people and he could exist again. No worries, no strings attached.

But that nagging feeling of guilt just wouldn't leave him alone no matter how much he ignored it, it still put a knot in his stomach. He couldn't understand why. It wasn't like he hadn't done something like this before and back then it hadn't bothered him in the slightest. So why now?

He knew why. Because it was Matt.

Gilbert heard movement in the kitchen again and it reminded him that he was starving. He hadn't moved from the couch all day and hadn't had any food yet even though it was, what, three o'clock?

Without moving he shouted, "Hey West, Make me a sandwich!"

"Nein."

Cr*p. His stomach growled loudly and he rolled his eyes. Time to get up.

With a sigh he got to his feet and shakily made his way to the kitchen. Ludwig was leaning against the counter with a half-eaten sandwich in his hands, mouth full of the other half.

Gil moved past him gathering up food to satisfy that hunger that only a sandwich could satisfy. "Could've made me one _arschloch._" His brother shrugged and continued to watch placidly as Prussia put masses of food onto a slice of bread. Some of the stuff probably shouldn't ever come into contact with each other, but really he didn't care.

He took a bite.

"How is it?"

"Tastes like sh*t," he said taking another bite.

Germany finished his food and immediately went to clean up the mess his brother had made. Gilbert watched in silence, slowly eating through the foul-tasting sandwich.

"You seem upset."

Prussia hadn't expected anyone to care, or even notice for that matter, so his younger brother's comment came as a surprise. But he wouldn't falter, he was too awesome. "No," he said, although through the food it sounded more like "Nmuh"

"Really?" the voice was full of skepticism.

Gilbert swallowed and said, "Really." He threw the remains of his sandwich in the trash and walked back to the couch. He sat back down and picked up the TV remote. But he didn't turn it on. His hand wavered for a moment before falling back down to the couch with a small sigh.

He really didn't' want to see that again.

The couch moved and he turned to see that Ludwig had silently come over and was now leaning over next to him, arms folded on the back of the couch. He looked very uncomfortable. Gilbert watched his reflection in the TV, not really expecting him to say much. After a long uncomfortable silence in which neither man looked directly at the other he finally spoke. "Everyone is going out for a drink. Would you like to come?"

Gilbert looked up with slight surprise. "Um, ja, sure."

His brother nodded and straightened up. "Good. Let's go."

Well that was…abrupt. But Gilbert just shrugged and followed his brother out the front door, enjoying the attention that was keeping his legs solid.

Outside the air was already shaking off the warmth of the summer and the public was grudgingly accepting the cold breezes that rustled the turning leaves. Autumn already? How long had he been avoiding people?

They walked down the road, past happy citizens and brightly coloured plants. This was what he wanted. He wanted people to make him feel needed again and life to make him feel whole. He glanced at his brother. Ludwig seemed to be calmed by being among the people he represented and entirely at home on his land. Prussia felt out of place in someone else's country.

"West?"

"Ja?"

"Do you think it was the right choice?"

Germany sighed. They had been through this more then once and it always went the same way. "Why do I feel like I'm the older one?" he muttered.

"I have no idea."

Another sigh. "Was it for the good of you're people?"

"I guess."

"Then it was the right choice."

They never outright said it, but they both knew what they were talking about. But even with the constant reassurance Gilbert felt terrible and it wasn't just that sandwich.

"Are you sure?"

The wind ruffled their hair. "Ja."

They continued to walk in silence, neither sure what to say. It had been a difficult decision to make, friend or country, but his boss had decided for him. It wasn't uncommon for a country to turn on a friend for political, or even economic, reasons and to Gilbert it was obvious that this was purely politics. But that didn't make it right. Ludwig didn't seem to mind though and neither did his boss and that really bothered him.

"West?"

"Ja?"

"How should I tell him?"

Germany stopped in his tracks and looked at Prussia with astonishment. "You haven't told him yet?" he asked incredulously.

"Well." He hesitated. "Not… really."

Ludwig sighed, hung his head and shook it slowly in a rare move of sarcasm. He looked back up with those piercing blue eyes. "I thought you told him months ago."

"Well I didn't, so… How should I tell him?"

"You know I'm not good with that sort of thing," he said with a glance to the side.

"How could I forget," Gilbert said with a small smirk. "So what should I do?"

"I don't know."

They stood awkwardly for a one long moment willing each other to say something to break the silence. When nothing happened Ludwig sighed and walked past his brother. Gilbert waited for a moment and then he turned and followed on their continuing quest for a beer.

The bar came into view and he let a small smile reach his face. Maybe a good beer or seven would make him feel a bit better. They went through the door and it immediately became apparent that when his brother had said everyone he meant _everyone._ The noise hit them like a bucket of wet cement and nearly every country Prussia knew filled the booths, tables and bar. Even Italy was there, sharing a bottle of wine with Spain, Romano and France.

He turned to point it out to Germany, but his brother was already making his way towards the bar. Gilbert shrugged and followed him. They sat on the only two empty stools, right between an incoherent England and a frightening Sweden. No wonder the seats weren't taken.

A couple of beers were immediately placed on the counter in front of them and Prussia took a swig. Ah, good old German beer; delicious, full of nutrients and refreshingly cold. After a few more gulps he could feel his mind begin to haze over. Suddenly, all of the issues he had been dealing with didn't seem so immediate anymore and he just wanted to have a good time.

But it wasn't as simple as he thought. Even as he wandered the bar, laughing with friends and hitting on everyone, he could still feel that guilt gnawing away at the back of his mind. Soon he was back where he started, sitting on a bar stool stewing in his own guilt. The only difference was that this time he was alone… and drunk.

Germany had gone over to join Austria (for some reason that was beyond him) and now Gilbert sucked down another drink and watched with little amusement as America tried to calm down England who looked dangerously close to taking his clothes off. You know, the usual.

He turned on his stool and looked around at the other nations. They were all happy. They all had friends. Most of them were reliable. So what was wrong with him?

Wait, there was someone alone. Francis was watching England with a slightly disconcerting look on his face and a near-empty bottle of wine on the table in front of him. Maybe talking would help?

Well it was definitely a better idea then just sitting there.

So he got up and walked over, sliding into the booth to sit across from Francis. He folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them tiredly with a sigh for good measure. "Hey Francis?" he asked softly, "Can I talk to you for a second?"

No answer.

"Francis?" he said slightly louder.

Still nothing.

He looked up. That damn pervert was still watching America trying to pull England's shirt back down. F*cking invisibility, how did Birdie stand it? Gilbert smirked. Oh well, you gotta do what you gotta do.

France yelped when a foot made contact with his groin. A manly yelp mind you, deep and strong with absolutely no hint of pain. He looked across the table to where Prussia had materialized and was now scowling deeply at him.

"Can. I. Talk. To. You." He said slowly.

With the foot still firmly in place all the nation could do was nod stiffly. The pressure went away and Francis took a breath waiting for the pain to go away.

Gilbert scoffed. Weakling, he hadn't kicked that hard. Well now seemed as good a time to talk as any. "I have a problem and I was hoping you could help."

France perked up instantly and a slightly disturbing smile came to his face. "Of course I can help."

"Erm… Oka-ay. Well, it's just that–"

He was interrupted by a finger on his lips and he looked down at it incredulously and then back up at it's owner. "You do not have to say another word, I know exactly what it is." He pulled his hand away and looked at him knowingly. "Here's what you do. Get a dozen roses, some condoms and a huge–"

"What the f*ck? Stop, shut up! I was having morality issues, what the hell did you think I was talking about? No, wait, please don't answer that, I don't want to know." He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and fore-finger and sighed. "I should've known you wouldn't help," he muttered, more to himself the his friend, "But I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Prusse?"

"Just–" What was he going to say? Go away? Leave me alone? Shut up? He would just forget after all. It would be like he had never been there at all. But he really didn't know. "Never mind." That would have to do.

But Francis didn't give up so easily. Gilbert felt a hand on his and looked up at his friend. The man had lost his perverted smile and his eyes had become worried. Gott, not this again. "Tell me."

"Oh mein gott," he groaned, "Why does everyone always act like they care so much. I know you don't, you're just trying to make yourself feel better by pretending that you're a good person when really you don't give a sh*t! So just knock it off and leave me alone!"

France's eyes were wide and when Prussia glanced around the bar he could see that a few of the others were watching them with interest. Oh goody, more attention. He stood up. "I should just go."

A hand grabbed his arm. "Non," came the reply, "Tell me what is happening."

He glanced around again. They had all lost interest and had gone back to whatever they were doing. He sat back down reluctantly. "Do you really want to know?" he asked.

"Oui."

Another sigh. "Well, I can't tell you much, I promised I wouldn't, but I can tell you a bit."

Francis nodded.

"'Kay, here goes." How much could he tell him without breaking his promise to keep it a secret? He may be betraying his friend's trust anyways, but this was one promise he could keep. For a while at least. "I have this friend." Great start. "And he's having some issues with his brother. He asked me to help, to not tell anyone, and to…" How could he put this? "Give him something in return for something else that I _really _want. And I mean really, _really_ want. But I can't help him even though I promised to. Well not so much can't as I've been forbidden from helping him and I want to help, I do, but now that I'm not allowed I really don't know who to listen to. He needs me, but… I just don't want to break another promise. What should I do?"

Francis nodded again and chewed his lip in thought for a moment. Then he spoke. "And this thing you want…"

"No, it's not sex."

"Oh," he said disappointedly.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Look should I help the guy or not?"

"Well it seems to me," he said, "That you could either help your friend, go against the rules you've been given, keep his trust and I'm assuming get in trouble. Or." He held up a finger. "You could leave it alone, play by the rules, let him sort it out himself and maybe lose his trust."

"Yeah, I know, that's why I'm asking should I help him or not?"

"Can I ask just one thing?"

"Sure."

"This thing you want so badly," he looked up, curious, "Is it land?"

Damn it. He nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, it's land."

"Well then I think you need to ask yourself, 'Is it worth the cost?'"

Strange as it sounded the question actually made cense. Either way he went there would be advantages and disadvantages and he realized how much one outweighed the other in both cases. No matter what he decided something bad would happen, either politically or mentally. He would regret it no matter what he chose. There was no right choice, just options and he knew which one he was going to choose.

Gilbert looked up, "You're right."

"When am I not?"

"I know what I have to do." It seemed easy now, the choice so obvious. He smiled. "Thanks."

"_De rien._"

Prussia stood and slid out of the booth. He stopped and turned back. "By the way, about before…"

"Don't worry." Francis held up a hand and smiled. "I know how you get under stress. We all get that way sometimes. _C'est vrai, n'est pas?_"

"Yeah, sure. And, um." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Oui."

Well, maybe Mattie wouldn't find out. It wasn't like Francis knew who they were talking about anyways. He had even completely forgotten about the islands he had lost that past year. For a week or two the man had held extensive meetings with both his politicians and his allies to see what had and could be done. But at some point it had all faded away and disappeared. Forgotten. Gilbert would bet that if he asked the nation right now he would be unable to remember at all.

It was only to be expected, after all both Canada and Quebec were basically invisible.

He sat back down on his bar stool and was not surprised when a few minutes later his little brother joined him again. He ordered them both two more drinks. "So, how's ol' Roddy?"

"Tiring."

As per usual.

Their drinks arrived and he immediately took a sip. Mmm, icy.

"I'm going to Canada."

"Where?"

"Canada. The place slash person we've been talking about for the past few _months_? I need to talk to him."

"Oh." He took a drink. "When?"

"I don't know, sometime soon."

"Will you be moving out of my basement sometime soon?"

"Whoa, let's not get hasty here!"

Ludwig gave another sigh and looked into his beer. "I can dream," he muttered.

Gilbert laughed softly and finished off his own beer. And, hey why not, grabbed Germany's beer and finished that off too. He ignored the glare he received and gave his brother a playful punch on the shoulder. "Hey come on, West, lighten up! It's not like–"

"_Perkele!_"

The bar silenced immediately. They all knew that cheery voice.

Russia's eyes were wide as he watched Finland who's shirt was now drenched in Vodka. Tino himself had his arms spread wide to show off his darkened shirt and stared down at it angrily. His eyes narrowed and he slowly looked up at Ivan who was now panicking silently.

Russia hit the floor loudly with Finland on top of him in a fury and soon the punches were flying. "Райвис, помогите!" he shouted frantically.

Movement caught Gilbert's eye and he turned to see Latvia, surrounded by empty vodka bottles, put down his drink and walk over drunkenly. He grabbed Finland by the back of his shirt and pulled him off, throwing him to the floor and straddling him. His punches were quick and looked extremely painful.

1…2…3… "Latvia!" Saw that coming.

Estonia jumped up from his spot next to Latvia's seat and pulled the flailing boy off Finland. Taking the opportunity Tino stood up and tackled Russia, who had only just stood up, to the floor again taking him by surprise.

Gilbert looked up at Sweden who was watching calmly. "W- shouldn't you do something?" he asked.

The man never took his eyes off the fight and shook his head calmly. "J'st let th'm w'rk 't out."

Something told him that Sweden had gone through this before and turned back to the fight where Lithuania had now joined in and America had jumped in for the chance to beat up Russia. Poland cheered from the sidelines. This was probably why everyone tried to keep Finland away from alcohol.

Well, an opportunity was an opportunity and Prussia knew this was his chance to slip away unnoticed. But, then again, he had no reason. Plus the fight was just so damn amusing. He could go see Canada later; he wasn't prepared for it just yet.

After all, who knew what could have happened while he was away.

* * *

><p>Hola!<p>

Okay, I'd like to start my three-part apology by saying you are all wonderful people (especially those who review, nudge nudge wink wink) No really! Sticking with this thing makes you extra special in my books especially considering how long these chapters take.  
>Part two: explanation. Okay so in addition to my ADD, writers block and usual issues I also had another problem. My laptop is old so there wasn't enough memory causing the word to quit before it could be opened fully and it took us ages to fix it. Well, it is obviously fixed now so I will be writing as much as possible.<br>Part three. .

Now, lesson time. Jack be Nimble has one of the lesser known backgrounds of the nursery rhyme world. It is said that the Jack it refers to is the notorious pirate Jack Rackham aka Calico Jack. The Candlestick thing is much more obscure in meaning, most likely refering to an early game/ ritual (I'm not sure which) in which people jump over candlesticks for some reason that is beyond me.

Translations:

What Russia said means "Latvia, help!" All that French is unimportant and, frankly easy to understand.

Don't own Hetalia. Although if my plans succede... :D


	9. Chapter 8: Sing a Song of Sixpence

**Chapter 8**

Sing a Song of Sixpence

~o~

Ripples spread out in the water growing fainter and fainter until they hit the edges. His breath sent another shockwave through the water and he watched that one fade too. The water seemed so calm. So incredibly peaceful. Maybe he would go outside today and relax by the pond for a while. Although, last he checked it had been raining.

Matthew looked up at the window from his spot on the floor. Rain pelted the glass soothingly. The rain had died away to a drizzle, but it looked like it was still fairly unpleasant outside. Yes, he could feel it faintly in his chest, not an unpleasant feeling. More… cooling. It soothed his fever nicely, though it definitely didn't help his stomach any.

It didn't drown out the screams either. They had started a few weeks ago, not loud his land was too large for that, but they had soon grown and now he could here them all the time. He hadn't slept for days. They filled his mind and left hardly any room for anything else. Even now he could hear them as far as Mackenzie Bay. If he listened closely he could hear the explosions and gunfire as well.

He turned back to the toilet and leaned his head on the cool porcelain. He closed his eyes. How long could he keep this up? He was dying, he could feel it. Half his land had been taken in the past year or so, much too quickly, and his people were dying. He felt empty and tired.

When was he going to tell someone? It was obvious now that Gilbert had either forgotten or didn't care enough to bother with him. Either way he was on his own again. Several times he had considered asking his family for help, but it just wouldn't be right. They loved him, he knew they did even though they tended to forget, but they didn't deserve to be pulled into his mess.

All those decades, full of mistakes and he hadn't told any of them. Oh sure he had told the Prime Ministers, all of them, but they never listened. Not until it was too late.

Now that he thought about it he had told Francis once, after all he had raised them, but he hadn't listened either. They all stopped listening, so he stopped talking.

Matthew sighed and stood up. He walked back through the door that separated the bathroom from his bedroom. On his bed Kumajirou sat looking worried, or the bear equivalent of worried, as he watched his sick friend walk sluggishly over to him. The nation sat down next to the bear and put a hand on his head.

"Oh Kuma," he muttered, "What am I going to do?"

"Who?"

"Canada, the one who feeds you."

"Oh."

Matthew fell back onto the bed and let his arms fall wide across the covers. He felt the surface shift as Kumajirou walked over to him and then sat down and looked at him with those tiny black eyes. He reached up a hand and rubbed the bear behind one velvety ear. The eyes closes with bliss and Matthew allowed himself a small smile. When the hand came away the bear lay down and curled up beside his friend.

The nation rolled onto his side and cuddled up to Kuma. He closed his eyes wearily. Maybe if he fell asleep he could escape it all. It really wouldn't be so bad to never wake up again. No one would notice.

He heard a bell and gasped. His violet eyes blinked open. Just in his head, it wasn't real. Wasn't real.

No, even in sleep there was no escape, just more terrible things. "What am I going to do?" he whispered again.

"America?" came a quiet response.

"No. I can't"

Two months ago he had had a meeting with the Prime Minister. It hadn't gone well.

"_Canada, I know you think you can hold out, but we both know that you can't. It will only be temporary anyways."_

"_But Mr. Jessup –"_

"_No buts. I'm in charge here and I need to look after these people. America is our ally, I'm certain our people will be safe there."_

"_We can't just send them away!"_

"_We can and we are! We can't let all those innocent people die, I thought you would understand that!"_

"_I do, I do. But I don't want to dump our problem on someone else, especially when my brother is having such economic trouble."_

"_Well what do you suggest we do then, eh?"_

"_I-I don't know, but we can figure something else out."_

"_Like what? We're running out of options."_

"_We could… We could build more shelters if we have to, set up better defenses, more protection."_

"_We're stretched far enough as it is, we can't afford to station any more people in stable cities right now."_

"_We could recruit the citizens to build more security structures, more barriers."_

"_How? When? There's not enough time"_

"_Arm them then! I don't know. But we can't send them away at this point; we don't have the resources for that either. I'm certain they have planes stationed along the border. Remember the train we tried to use to transport goods across the border?"_

"_How could I forget."_

"_Two hundred people! We were lucky there were only that many!"_

"_I know… But what else can we do?"_

Matthew's stomach growled and he curled tighter around Kumajirou with a slight grimace.

He had won. The people had stayed and they had died. People were leaving anyways, driving across the border into the US, but many of them were being refused entrance. The airports had been closed down as well in fear of anti-aircraft guns. In short, they were trapped.

Despite the government's best attempts to keep the public unaware of what was going on to the north the people were panicking. He could feel their tiny little minds swamped with fear and fear was contagious. It prickled his neck and made him shake constantly. He had been avoiding the world meetings for months to keep people from seeing the state he was in. He couldn't let them know.

So he hid.

His stomach lurched and he shot up off the bed and back into the bathroom where he promptly vomited into the toilet. He retched a few more times, but all that came up was bile and blood that burned his throat and filled his eyes with pained tears. God, would it never end?

A small sob escaped his throat and made him give a gurgling cough that burned his poor throat even more. The tears slid down his cheeks. And why not? No one was there to see it. No one to see him cry.

He heard something. It was soft, but his ears were sensitive and he looked up. Prussia. He was standing in the doorway watching him. How long had he been there?

Matthew looked back down at the rose tinted water, too ashamed to look at his friend. Real nations didn't cry. Footsteps came towards him. A hand squeezed his shoulder and he heard a gentle voice say, "Let's get you cleaned up."

It was always so difficult to remember all that Prussia had been through. He had lived for centuries, been through so much. Battles were lost in history and time, left only to memory. Maybe even forgotten to that. But what Matthew always forgot about was that Gilbert had raised Ludwig. He knew what to do in nearly every situation and he certainly knew how to deal with sickness.

So he didn't put up a fight as Gilbert washed his face and sent him back to the bedroom so that he could take his time cleaning the bathroom of what hadn't made it into the toilet. After that was done he came back in and looked through the dresser drawers until he found what he was looking for. He walked back over holding a clean white t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. He reached out and took hold of the shirt Matthew was already wearing and pulled it up over his head.

All nations had scars and Canada was no exception. In his relatively short life he had been through many wars including World War I and II, and the War of 1812. They had all left their marks, some more then others.

One particular scar caught Gilbert's eye. A crescent-shaped scar that ran from his collarbone down to his left armpit. He reached out his hand falling just short of the raised skin.

"Where did you get that scar?" he asked quietly.

"1812," he muttered. His voice was scratchy and quieter then usual. Every word burned.

Prussia looked at him and raised his eyebrows in want of more information, probably just to get Matthew talking more.

He obliged. "Alfred and I were fighting. He wanted me to become a part of him, but I said no. So we went to war. It was stupid, but he was insistent and it was the only way to keep him from just taking my land. So I burned down the Whitehouse and he burned down the Parliament buildings."

"So, he has one to?"

A nod. "Only, his is on the right shoulder."

"Guess that's one way to tell you two apart." Gilbert laughed lightly.

Matthew smiled slightly.

"What about those ones?" Prussia pointed to a smattering of red marks on Canada's side and back.

"Shrapnel from World War I," he said. "Nearly killed me. But the doctors managed to get most of the pieces out."

"Ouch. What about that one?"

"Halifax Explosion."

And so it continued. Matthew slowly found his voice and Gilbert did his best to coax it out. Soon enough they were trading old war stories and laughing together. A wide smile found it's way to both their faces and they were rolling up pant legs and twisting awkwardly to show off their various scars. Until Prussia asked about a small pink scar in between Canada's ribs.

"I –" Matthew paused. Curious. "It – " No, that wasn't right either. Where did that come from?

"What is it?"

"I don't… It's odd, but I can't remember where I got that scar from." His brow furrowed as he tried to remember. It wasn't a major event or anything, nothing that people would find in their history books. So something personal then? It wouldn't be from that old plane crash, those marks had healed. So what was it?

Gilbert frowned slightly and then shrugged. "Well, whatever. Here," he tossed the pajama bottoms at his friend. "Put these on, you need to get some sleep and I really don't want to have to put those on for you."

Matthew gave a nod, still looking at the small wound on his torso with confusion. He ran his finger along the tiny ridge searching he memory for what it might be. It felt sensitive even now although it must have been made decades ago if not centuries. How had he never noticed it before? It wasn't like you could easily forget something so permanent. What then?

The question rang through his mind as he changed into the pajamas and t-shirt and when that was done he still ran his fingers over the scar, feeling it through the fabric of the shirt.

Gilbert came back in and pulled back the covers of the bed back. He turned to Matthew and paused. He was looking at the floor, feeling the mystery scar and deep in thought. Prussia sighed. "Just let it go Birdie," he said.

"I don't remember how I got it," Matthew said slowly and quietly as though he hadn't heard his friend, "But I do remember _who_ gave it to me."

"Matt?" His tone was wary.

"It was Jean."

"Matt, don't do this."

"It wasn't his fault." His lip started shaking and his eyes went wide as the memory crept back. "It was mine, I shouldn't have provoked him."

Gilbert knelt down in front of his friend and took his face between his hands, forcing Matthew to look at him. "It's not you're fault, Matt. It wasn't then and it isn't now. Whatever happened it was because he's… He's crazy, Birdie, can't you see that. Something's not right with him, in his head." Violet eyes searched angry red, looking for some truth to the words.

"He can't help it. It's not his fault. So it must be mine. I should have spoken up. It's my own fault for being so invisible. I'm nothing," he said quickly, without any self-pity, "I should have done more."

It was obvious now that they were no longer talking about what had caused the scar. Prussia could see that something big had happened. And once again no one cared to pay attention. They never did and that had damaged Canada. Gilbert was wrong when he thought that Canada didn't know or didn't care about his invisibility. He obviously did care greatly and with lack of a better reason for being ignored he had dubbed himself unworthy of attention.

And an attention-starved child was bound to either act out or retreat. Matthew had retreated and Gilbert was guessing that Quebec had decided to act out, taking out his frustration on his younger brother.

All of them had been ignored. Every single one of them. He wasn't sure how many of them there must have been, the painting had shown eleven, but that couldn't have been all. He remembered hearing Canada and Quebec discussing their siblings, a mother and something had gone wrong between them. Where were they now? Had they all faded? No wonder Matt was behaving so oddly. It must be terrible to have everyone who ever cared to fade away into history and never see them again. And even worse to know that you were the reason. The end product.

Survivor's guilt they called it.

He leaned forward and held Matthew, silencing him with a hug.

Matthew stiffened for a moment, confused and so unused to human-contact, and he hugged back hesitantly as though he wasn't quite sure how it was done. Then he tightened his grip and buried his face in his friend's shoulder.

He wasn't sure why Gilbert was doing this, he hadn't taken him as the hugging type, but he welcomed it anyways.

Matthew missed them all: the bickering, the faces, the endless noise. But he just couldn't make himself face them yet. He was still too affected. It would take time and he wasn't sure how much he had left, but he was willing to wait if that's what it took.

One thing was certain though: he needed to keep himself in check. To many times had he been close to cracking and this time he had nearly let everything go. And worst of all he actually had revealed a weakness.

But it _wasn't _Jean's fault. Nobody understood that and it seemed like they never would. Perhaps it would be best to just give in and fade, surrender to the inevitable and give him what he wanted. It would be for the best. After all, it wasn't like anyone would notice if he was gone.

Matthew breathed in and smelled beer and rainwater. He felt the solidity of his friend in his arms and clung to it. He would miss this.

A small chuckle shook Gilbert and Matt could feel him smile into his shoulder.

"What?" he asked.

Another small laugh. "You're such a girl," came the reply, slightly muffled by the shirt, "And this is so gay."

"Sorry."

"No! It's okay."

Gilbert pulled back to look at him carefully, face serious, his smile gone. He held Matthew's shoulders and it made Matthew feel odd, like he was restrained under some giant microscope. He squirmed slightly and Prussia's grip tightened.

"Stop it."

Canada stilled.

"Now listen to me, Birdie," he said quietly. "It's not you're fault. I don't know who's fault it is, but it's definitely not yours. Look, I know you've been through some sh*t and I'm not even going to try and guess what, but I've been where you are, believe me."

There was no doubt Prussia had been through some stuff, that's what happens when you live for centuries, but Canada knew he wouldn't understand what had happened to him. He didn't know what it was like to be invisible.

But he nodded anyways.

"I know it feels like this will never end. But it will be over soon, I promise you." Gilbert's gaze flickered towards the doorway for a second, before regaining focus. "Just stay strong and _tell somebody _for f*ck sake. They can help."

"What about you?"

"What?"

Matthew blinked. "I thought you were helping me."

Gilbert's gazed flicked to the door again. "Matt…"

He felt his heart sink. "Gil? I thought you were going to help me." He searched those ruby eyes that refused to make contact. "I thought you were going to help me, you promised."

"And I am. Just… not yet."

Matthew waited for an explanation.

Gilbert sighed and he searched the floor. "I can't… Matt you have to understand…"

"I'm trying, Gil," he said. "But I can't."

"It's my boss. He… I just… Look." He looked up again to meet Matthew's eyes again. "I _will _help you. I swear I will. But you need to give me more time."

A small amount of hope leaked into Matthew's heart. "Okay," he said quietly.

Gilbert smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

Matthew smiled to, but it was difficult. There was so much he wanted to say. He wanted to just spill every little thing he had kept secret for so long. So many secrets. But he couldn't. Not yet anyways. Not to him.

So Matthew smiled and nodded and pretended it was all okay. It had been such a long time since he had had to lie that he felt out of practice. It wasn't like people ever asked him anything. If they saw him they either thought he was America or had no idea who he was. So really he had never needed to lie.

Well, this wasn't really lying, he told himself; it was more like withholding the truth. As long as he didn't say anything it wasn't technically lying.

~o~

His shoes hit the floor with a satisfying clack. His shirt was pressed and clean, as were his pants and his hair was combed back from his face showing off his beautiful eyes. And his eyes. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of velvet blue. They glinted with mischief and intelligence.

He was handsome, rich and he was winning a war. Good. He was all alone in this house with no one to brag to about the war he was winning. Bad. Well, he wasn't technically alone, after all he did have his servants, but they didn't count, not really.

But no one said it was easy being successful. Heaven knew what could go wrong. Everything that can go wrong will go wrong. Good ol' Murphy and his pessimistic law. Jean wasn't really worried though, he had everything under control. There was no way this could turn around at this point. The war was as good as won.

But still, there was that little nagging voice in that back of his mind that managed to push it's way to the front occasionally. Like right now.

_How much longer do you plan to get away with this?_

He laughed lightly. "Get away with what? There's nothing to get away with."

_You know what I'm talking about._

His smile disappeared. "Shut up, you don't know what you're talking about."

_I've been through just as much as you have, maybe more. We may share a body, but I have my own mind._

"I said shut up."

_You have no idea what you're doing, do you? You can't just make Mathieu fade away the same way we did–_

"I said shut up!"

He stopped walking and glanced around himself to make sure no one was there. Talking you yourself was one thing, but talking to no one was something else entirely. He didn't need them thinking he was England or something. No one was there. Maybe they hadn't heard him.

He continued walking. His beautiful leather shoes clacking away at the marble floors.

After moving out of Canada, Jean had moved into a lovely old manor house, which he had renovated into a bright new mansion, complete with marble floors, high ceilings and massive new windows that spanned whole walls. His own room was his pride and joy with a southern view of his perfectly kept garden and large koi pond that broke the blank field of nicely cut grass with not a weed in sight.

He didn't go out on the grounds much though, preferring to stay inside with the curtains drawn and listening to the voice shouting at him. It wasn't fun. Sometimes the voice would take over (though that was getting less and less common) and for anywhere from a few seconds to several hours he would be horrified at what he had and was doing. During these longer sessions his servants had gotten used to restraining him so that he wouldn't hurt himself or anyone else. It annoyed him, but he let them to keep them happy. Besides, it wouldn't do to hurt himself. Or them for that matter, he needed the help to keep the grounds clean.

So he put up with it all and tried to ignore that annoying little voice as much as he could.

_He's our brother. You loved him once._

Jean ignored it and made his way to his darkened room and then to the adjoining bathroom. He did his business and then washed his hands.

_He looks like us you know._

He looked up at the mirror. Sure enough he saw Matthew looking back at him. In the dim light his eyes were violet and his hair could easily pass for that same shade of strawberry blond. All he needed were the glasses.

His fist made contact with the mirror before he knew what he was doing and sent a web of cracks out across the glass, distorting his face and cutting his hand. Not enough. He punched the glass twice more before he was satisfied with the amount of glass that fell into the sink and onto the floor. Some of it came away in his skin, but he ignored the pain and blood and left the bathroom. One of the maids would clean that up later.

He walked back down the hall at a quick pace, leaving a trail of blood droplets behind, wishing a horrible death on everyone. Especially his dear brother.

_He doesn't deserve to die._

"No," Jean said quietly. "No one deserves to die. Some people just don't deserve to live."

~o~

They were lying side-by-side in the bed, staring up at the ceiling and just relaxing. There was no need to talk and neither would know what to say anyways, so they lay in a comfortable silence. Matthew wasn't sure how long they had been there, but he didn't care. It wasn't like either of them had any place to go. As far as he had gathered Gilbert had come from home and it was between meetings (not like he would go, but it meant Prussia didn't have anywhere to go).

As far as he could feel the attacks on the Yukon had ceased so his stomach felt uncomfortable, but not like he was going to vomit any time soon. The bed shifted as Gilbert sat up and ran his hands through his hair. Matthew looked over at him, but didn't sit up.

"I should go," the albino muttered.

Now Matthew sat up. He frowned. "Where?"

"Just… go." He shrugged.

Matthew's frown deepened. "I thought you didn't have to go anywhere."

"I don't," came the reply.

"But," Matthew said. " You just said."

"Birdie! Stop being so paranoid. I didn't say 'I _have_ to go' I said I _should._ It's not like I'm going off to plot against you with you're many enemies or something, I should just get going." He gave a wry smile. "And you should be sleeping anyways."

He reached out and pushed Canada onto his back. Then he climbed off the bed and walked around to the door.

"Wait!"

He stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Why did you come here then?" he asked. "I-I mean, if you don't have the papers and I know you weren't here just to check up on me, so… Why did you come?"

Prussia stayed where he was for a moment as though he were thinking. Then he turned, looking at the ceiling, still thinking and then he looked down to meet Matthew's eyes. "I felt bad about, you know, not telling you why I hadn't gotten you those papers yet so I wanted to explain myself?" He ended it more as a question then an answer, sounding uncertain. Matthew raised an eyebrow. "Don't look at me like that! I can be guilty; it's a natural human emotion, for cryin' out loud! Now go to sleep or I'll put you to sleep with my fist." He held up one fist to prove his threat.

Matthew laughed lightly. "Okay. See you."

"Yeah."

And with that he left and Matthew was alone again. He lay back down and looked up at the ceiling. Where was he going? Matthew wanted so badly to believe him, but he just couldn't. There was something going on, there was a reason he had come. There must be something he wasn't saying.

He ran his finger over the scar under his shirt. He wasn't the only one keeping secrets.

The bed shifted and Kumajirou waddled over to him.

Matthew smiled and put his hand on the broad back. "Hey Kuma. Where've you been?"

"Who?"

"Canada."

"Oh." The bear lay down on the soft bed and gave a sigh of contentment. Matthew ran his fingers through the thick white fur and looked up again. He studied the uneven surface and wondered quietly how much time he had left. They would find out soon, there was no doubt about that, but how much. That was the main thing.

If they knew, would they understand? Would they even care?

The thought made his heart sink. So he didn't think about it anymore.

He rolled away from the bear, took his glasses off and placed them carefully on the bedside table. Then he sighed and closed his eyes. Sleep filled him and drowned the pains in his stomach and the thoughts in his mind and the screams of his people. If only he could sleep forever.

~o~

_It was bright._

_Someone's hands in his._

_Children ran and laughed and sang._

_Then there came the shouting._

_And the knife._

_Someone called his name._

_Blood._

_The bells began to toll._


	10. Chapter 9: Aluetta

**Chapter 9**

Aluetta

~o~

For the next week nothing happened. No one called or visited and the attacks on the Yukon seemed to have receded slightly. His mind was clear though his fever burned on and he used the time to rest.

He continued to dream though. It seemed unavoidable, that dream, and it still didn't seem quite complete. There was a haze about it that made it impossible to make out all of it.

Other then that he slept soundly with nothing to wake him but birdcalls and an angry bear with an empty stomach. To tell the truth, Kumajirou seemed to enjoy having his master home. He slept in as well, although not as long, and he seemed much happier not having to travel all the time. So Matthew came to expect Kuma to wake him up in the mornings. Until one day.

He was woken by a phone call. At the sound of the ringing phone he started awake and looked around himself confusedly. Light poured in through the windows. The sun had been up for quite some time.

The phone rang again and he looked around himself for where it could be. Soon enough he located the source of the sound. For a moment he considered not picking up. It wasn't like it could be anyone important. But curiosity got the best of him and he reached for the phone.

"H'lo?"

"Hey –uh – Mattie!"

Alfred. What could he possibly want this time? Probably money. He sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Hey Al, what's up?" He glanced at the clock. 11:12.

"The sky? So anyways, I need to talk to you."

Matthew yawned. "Al, I'd love to meet up with you, but–"

"Great. I'll meet you in an hour for lunch."

"But–"

"See you soon!"

"Wait! I…" The dial tone replaced his brother's voice and he sighed. It was too early to have to deal with this.

Although, he had to admit, a certain excitement filled him. It wasn't often they got together and it was much too cold out to be playing baseball, which Matthew despised thanks to his brother. They would probably be going to a McDonald's or some equally greasy fast-food place, but at least he wouldn't be getting hit in the crotch with a speeding leather ball.

So he got up, had a shower and got dressed in blue jeans and his favourite red hoodie. After he got dressed he checked his fever. It was relatively high, but he would live.

When he got downstairs a few minutes later he found a rather irritated polar bear sitting in his kitchen with an empty food bowl in between his paws. He paused and looked the bear in it's glaring eyes for a long moment. "Would you like me to feed you?"

Kumajirou snuffed, not bothering himself with the words.

Matthew couldn't help but smile. He picked up the bowl and filled it. A mix of tuna, salmon and other various fish. Kuma ate it in three bites, barely tasting the food, and then left to go sleep it off on the couch in the living room. Matthew followed and sat down next to him. He put a hand on the bear's hard head and looked out the window across from him.

Blue skies shone through, punctuated by clouds rushing by on a fast wind. That same wind rustled the orange leaves of the trees that he could just see from his spot on the couch. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, easily picking out the taste of autumn on the air. His beloved country preparing itself for the long winter that would no doubt come. Every year there was less snow, but it only made his enjoy it all the more when it finally did arrive.

He leaned his head back to rest on the back of the couch. His eyes were so heavy. He was so tired.

There was a knock at the door and Matthew sat up with a gasp, his eyes blinking open. He looked up at the clock. 12:20. He must have drifted off. There was another knock, more insistant, and he jumped to his feet to answer it.

The door opened to reveal Alfred, his fist posed to knock again. He looked surprised for a moment, but he brought down his fist and smiled. "Hey, Mattie!" he said brightly. "What took you so long?"

Matthew apologized and bid him come inside, but his brother refused. "Come on dude, I want to get going," he whined. "I'm hungry."

"I tried to tell you, Al," Matt replied. "I'd love to have lunch with you, but I really don't think it's such a good idea."

Alfred pouted. "Aw, come on Matt. I need to talk to you about something important."

Matthew sighed and looked back into his warm house. His stomach was still a bit touchy and he really wanted to stay where it was warm and private, but it might do him some good to eat something. So he sighed with resignation and looked back to his brother. "Fine, where are we going?"

Please don't say it please don't say it please don't say

"McDonald's!" Of course.

"Fine, just let me get my coat." He moved back inside, gesturing to America to follow. The blond waited by the open door as the other put on his down-filled jacket, argued with a polar bear that was flatly refusing to leave the house and then they were off.

Autumn was well underway and they shoved their hands into their pockets to keep warm. Most of the trees were bare, but it would be a while yet before there was any snow, so his house was surrounded by gnarly brown trees that reached for the sky and did nothing to block out the drone of cars passing by.

It was a nice day, he had to admit. Few clouds blemished the sky and the sun was warm on Matthew's face, but the cold wind kept most people indoors or in their cars rather then walk. On the short trip to the nearest McD's they saw few people actually walking and Alfred complained constantly to the point where Matthew was seriously considering breaking out his hockey stick.

But they survived and when they arrived at their destination they found the restaurant near empty. Canada took a seat near the window while his brother went to order them something to eat. He came back with three Whoppers and a large order of fries. He dropped one of the Whoppers in front of Matthew and set to eating his two.

Matthew looked at his 'food'. Just the sight of it made his stomach churn warningly. So he ignored it, and Alfred, and looked out the window instead.

The sound of chewing continued across from him, oblivious to his discomfort and disgust. Conversation was kept to a minimum, which suited the Canadian just fine. At one point Alfred went to get a drink and he came back with a massive cup of soda.

Matthew waited for him to go back to eating, but he didn't. Instead, he looked over the table at him.

"Aren't you gonna eat?" he asked.

Slightly surprised, Matthew turned to him. He glanced down at the burger, untouched and still wrapped in grease-soaked paper. Filled with disgust he shook his head slightly.

Alfred's brow furrowed. "Well, why not? Not like it'll kill you or anything."

Matt shrugged and gave a wry smile. "I don't know. I guess I'm just not as hungry as I thought I was."

Alfred tilted his head slightly and gave him an odd expression that Matthew couldn't quite figure out. "You sure? I bought that for you."

"Yeah."

There was that expression again. Not complex, just different. But it soon vanished and Alfred shrugged and reached over to the food. "More for me I guess."

In a few minutes he was done and the two left the fast food place, one pleasantly full and one feeling sickly. They decided to go for a walk seeing as it had warmed since they had entered the restaurant. They went to a nearby park that was nearly as empty as the McDonald's they had been to. Above head a flock of geese, flying south, honked noisily and below foot colourful leaves crunched as they walked.

Between slurps of his drink Alfred talked about his recent doings and Matthew listened, enjoying the company. Listening to his brother blather on about nothing in particular made the pain in his stomach a little more bearable. But he couldn't help but feel that something was bothering the older nation. Something in the way he spoke and acted. He wondered what he had wanted to talk about.

When they reached the other end of the park Alfred threw out his now empty drink cup and they turned around to walk back. The trees here had more leaves then Matthew's did and they struggled against the wind, twisting and turning wildly.

Halfway back they stopped for a moment for Alfred to try his shoe and Matthew looked up to watch them in their mad dance. He wondered at their determination. There was movement at his side as Alfred stood and looked up as well.

They stood in the hush and watched a single leaf struggle for its hold on a twig.

"Come on," he muttered. "Don't give up. Just keep holding on." Matthew smiled as his brother whispered encouragement to the little maple leaf.

The wind won though, and the leaf was pulled away from its perch and when the wind died it drifted slowly to their feet where it lost itself amid the foliage that had already fallen. Alfred bent over and picked it up. He held it out in front of them. It was rather pretty, red and orange shot through with golden yellow veins and browning at the tips.

"Dammit," he muttered and Matthew looked at him curiously. Alfred's happy demeanor had disappeared and he looked disappointed. "Why couldn't you just hold on for a little while longer?" He dropped it and they watched as the little leaf swayed back and forth before a sudden gust pulled it away and out of sight.

They looked after it, comfortable in the silence.

Another gust ruffled their hair and Matthew reached up to push his glasses up onto his nose. A shot of pain went through his belly as he did and he grimaced.

The look did not go unnoticed by Alfred. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

The silence grew slightly less comfortable.

"No you're not." Matthew looked at his brother and raised his eyebrows, taken aback by the sudden change in mood. "I know what's going on Matt. My people in Alaska can't stop talking about it. Why didn't you tell me?" He didn't look angry, just disappointed again, but Matthew felt it all the same.

"Is this why you came to see me? What you needed to talk about?"

A nod. "I wasn't concerned at first. I knew you could take care of yourself. But," he looked up locking eyes with Matthew. "Then I found out just how bad it was. It got to that point where I couldn't ignore it anymore. And I can't just forget anymore either. So the next time I ask if you're okay, tell me the f*cking truth."

"I'm sorry," Matthew said weakly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked again with more irritation.

"Because it wasn't you're problem. I didn't want to get you involved."

"This is bigger then you Mattie. And yeah, it is my problem." He turned away and started walking away. Matthew paused for a moment before rushing after him, running to catch up. Once he did Alfred began to speak again. "We both signed NORAD, for God sake, this has always been my problem."

"He's a part of North America to."

"So what? That doesn't change a f*cking think, Matt, and you know it." He glared at his Northern brother angrily. "I still… It's my job to protect you. I'm supposed your hero."

"But you said yourself that I can take care of myself," Matthew argued. "And I can. I just have to–"

Alfred stopped and put out an arm to stop him. The he turned to Matthew and gave him a scathing look. "No. If you could defend yourself then you would still be the second largest country in the world!"

He remembered that?

"I can defend myself! I just need more time." He stopped. That had been what Gilbert had said to him. More time. "Prussia's getting me use of the German army. He just…" The more he said it, to himself or anyone else the more foolish it sounded. "He said he just needs more time." Ridiculous.

"Matt?" Matthew looked to find his brother's anger had been overcome by a tired worry. "How long has he been telling you that?"

Matthew couldn't reply. He didn't know how to. He had always been suspicious. Too afraid to let himself hope that he didn't let himself see either. There wasn't an army coming and there never had been.

He walked over to a nearby bench and sat down on it, not bothering to brush away the leaves that were already there. He leaned his elbows on his knees and looked down at the gathering of autumn leaves that had been blown into a drift by the wind.

Alfred came and sat next to him, slinging an arm around the younger's shoulders and looking at him with that odd look again. The look was full of anger hidden away by worry. But there was something else there to; lurking in the cracks that Matthew just couldn't figure out.

"Look," came Alfred's tired voice. "I can help you. I can get you the resources you need, you just have to ask."

Matthew shook his head. "No. I can't let you get dragged into this too."

"Dragged into what?" some of the anger was escaping. "It's just a war. It's not like I haven't been through a ton of them myself. What makes this so different?"

He shook his head again. "I don't know. I just can't let you risk so much over something so trivial. It's what my people want."

"What? For their country to be destroyed? For everyone to die, just so they can be a part of something else?" Alfred furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry Matt, but I really can't understand. You've been through so much and you fall to something like this? I mean, what the hell? Why aren't you fighting back?"

Matthew tried to think of an answer, but all that came was nothing. "It's complicated."

Alfred sighed heavily and stood up. "Look, I don't know if this is some sort of pride sh*t or something, but I'm just going to assume you know what you're doing." Matthew looked up in surprise. "So I'm going to go. If you need something – anything – then just ask me and I'll come help. But promise me you'll ask. I can't help if I don't know how." He rubbed the back of his head with his hand and bit his lower lip. "I'll see yah 'round."

He set off down the path. That was it? As easy as that? It didn't seem quite right. After a few seconds Matthew stood up. "Wait," he said. "Why don't you stay with me? There's plenty of room and I really don't mind."

Alfred turned back to looked at him with icy blue eyes. "No thanks," he said. "You have enough to worry about without me in the way. Besides," he added. "I have stuff I gotta do. Just remember to ask if you need something, 'kay?"

"Right."

A gust of wind bore away their voices and replaced them with silence as Alfred walked away leaving his brother alone again. Matthew sat back down and put a hand to his aching belly. He wondered why Alfred had just walked away after all that? He wondered why he suddenly seemed to care so much about something he had never been faced with before? He wondered what Alfred had meant when he had said it was bigger then him?

But the wondering produced no answers and just gave him a headache. The screams in his mind welled up again and he grimaced. They seemed louder after that period of grace.

Something moved in the corner of his eye. Matthew glanced down to see a maple leaf trapped between the seat of the bench and the metal frame. When he reached down and pulled it free he realized it was the same leaf that he and his brother had been watching only minutes ago.

With one finger he traced the golden veins that spread out through the papery surface. It was nearly winter. What would happen when it snowed? Last year the fighting had continued through the cold and he had no respite. This year would probably be no different. Had it been a year already? It seemed so short. It was amazing so few people had noticed.

It occurred to him that he should have told Alfred not to tell anyone about any of it. But he had a feeling that he wouldn't. Besides, he would probably just forget about it anyways. He had probably already forgotten.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden noise, harsh and high. He gritted his teeth and let go of the leaf to cover his ears, but the screeching continued in his mind, destroying his ability to think at all and pounding his ears and brain. He tried to shout to Alfred, but the man was too far away and Matthew's voice was too quiet. It grew in intensity and started something in his stomach. A fire was burning in his belly, spreading out to consume him.

The pavement of the park walkway came up to meet him as he fell to his knees. He couldn't decide whether to cover his ears or his stomach. It didn't see to make a difference either way and both pains grew. They were unbearable. What was happening? He had never had this before, the intense pain and noise.

And just when Matthew thought it couldn't get any worse it stopped.

The sudden silence seemed much too empty. His stomach ached, but nothing like it had been. What was it? He let himself fall onto his side and just felt the cool, rough pavement against his cheek. Wind ruffled his hair weakly and he breathed heavily feeling suddenly… lost.

What was that?

He couldn't be sure. Whatever it was had happened a very far ways off and it was like nothing he had ever heard before. One thing was certain though. The territories were gone and he couldn't help but wonder who would be next.

Hey guys!

Short chapter, I know, but it was getting so bi-polar I had to stop. And ff is giving me issues so that's why there's no A/N on the last chapter. This one I had to write on the actual chapter rather then by editing.

Now, NORAD is a pact signed that basically insures the alliance of certain countries to defend North America. Aluetta? Not as happy as you might think. The whole song is actually about plucking the different parts of a duck (or goose, can't quite remember)

Please review. I would love to here your comments, suggestions, predictions et cetera so feel free to click that little link down there. Right there. It says "review", you can't miss it. No, I'm not desperate, I just like reviews.

Don't own Hetalia… or NORAD, just the story.


	11. Chapter 10: V'la L'bon Vent

**Chapter 10**

V'la L'bon Vent

~o~

Canada sneezed.

His fever was high, his throat had an eternal tickle and his mind was a fog, but he was determined to get to the meeting. After America had left, Matthew had thought long and hard about what to do. It was quite obvious now that something had to be done, but in his ill state he had no idea what. So after thinking he had decided that he needed to talk to Prussia.

The only problem was that his economy was plummeting and the next meeting was taking place in Europe (not to mention the ex-nation might not even show up). So he spent a terribly long plane ride getting odd looks from the other passengers. It didn't really help that he had decided to bring Kumajirou on with him for comfort.

But truthfully he really didn't care. He was determined to give Prussia a piece of his mind and if that meant breaking out his special privileges then he was going to break them out, damn it.

He made sure the plane he took would get him to Belgium early enough that he could sleep off the jetlag and still make it to the meeting in time, but it didn't really matter so long as he got there. All that really mattered was that Gilbert was there, and if he wasn't? Then Matt was going to Germany.

After grabbing his bags and checking into a cr*ppy hotel ten blocks away from the meeting hall he passed out happily on the grubby bed with Kuma curled up beside him. In his foggy state he forgot to set the alarm and when he woke up there was no way he would make it in time. So grabbed a cab and began preparing his speech in his head. By the time he got to the hall it was nearly time for lunch, but he still had a half an hour to wait, so now here he was, walking down the abandoned hall, bear in arms and plan in mind.

One side of the hall was dominated by windows and let in a dreary light that grayed the wall opposite. The light moved and undulated as freezing raindrops pelted the glass and Matthew found it most suiting of his mood. Outside the temperature was slightly higher then normal for this time of year, but beyond the rain there were still patches of ice and snow hiding in corners all around the city. It must have snowed earlier. He paused briefly outside the door to the room to gather his courage and strength before entering. The light washed over him and he felt calmed by it. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

But he was there and he needed to know, so after taking a breath he opened the door.

The noise immediately quieted to an almost nonexistent buzz upon his arrival and he looked around at the faces, all turned toward him. He looked around, searching for one face in particular, the one face that wasn't turned to him. There he was. Sitting between Austria and Germany sat Prussia, eyes on the table and chancing a confused glance every few seconds. Mind too fogged by medicine and fever to wonder why they all noticed him all of a sudden, Canada closed the door behind him and made his way over to the table.

The only empty seat left was beside France due, most likely, to his habit of groping, so he took it without a second thought. The eyes that were on him slowly went away and the voices grew steadily until they were at the level they had been at before. Nations argued and fought and some even declared wars that would never actually take place beyond the meeting and the meeting schedule was ignored. All was as it should be.

Canada didn't listen. All he paid attention to was the feeling of Prussia's eyes on him. He tried to make it look like he couldn't care less, but occasionally he would cast and angry glance in the Albino's direction only to find him staring back. Matthew dared him to try to leave.

In his silent battle of wills he didn't notice another pair of eyes on him.

"Mathieu," said the man next to him.

Canada started and turned to look at France. "Oui, Papa?"

He was met with a tight hug and a laugh. The hug lasted slightly to long for comfort and his Father figure's ramblings about how much he had missed him pounded his ear, but Matthew hugged back, finding he had missed him as well. When he finally let go France kept talking. "It has been so long, mon cher," he said. "Where have you been hiding yourself? You look terrible, have you been eating? How are you? How is your dear brother? I have not seen him for such a long time! Tell me how he is."

"Eh?"

"How is Jean? What has he been up to?"

Had he really forgotten about the islands? It seemed that Canada wasn't the only one that people had a tendency to forget. He tried not to let it bother him though as he told his "Papa" about how well he had been, after all France had raised them both. He had a right to know about his other son. As more information was dragged out of him he came to realize how much France loved his brother. It shouldn't have surprised him. Matthew had been raised mostly by England while Jean had been through so much more with France. He just retained the memories was all. Now that he thought of it, he had barely seen the older when he was young.

"Papa?" he finally interrupted.

"Oui?"

"Haven't you been watching the news at all?"

France looked taken aback, although that might just have been his tendency to over dramatize things. "Of course I have. Pourquoi?"

Canada was tempted for a few seconds to confide in his father, but he knew it would just lead to a huge fuss so instead he said "No reason. It's just that I though a new country would be all over the news."

France put on a face that suggested he was thinking it over. "I do remember seeing something, but other things were more important I suppose."

Canada hummed his agreement. He snuck a look at Prussia and found he had either lost interest or was pretending not to notice him. He looked at his watch. Ten minutes to go before the lunch break. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, listening to France blather on about this and that.

The noise of the room was oddly soothing and Canada was tempted to just fall asleep right then and there. But he kept his eyes open. He only had to wait a little while longer and then he could get some answers.

~o~

Damn it. Damn it all to hell.

What was he doing here? He had no reason to come, no reason at all. And yet there he was, glaring at him occasionally and setting Prussia's nerves on end.

All he had wanted was some waffles, but no! There had to be something more to it. There _had _to be something in his way and it just _had _to be this. And it just _had _to be now didn't it? Of course it did. Because whenever he let his guard down the world would laugh and punch him in the face. And this was all just one big punch to the face. Stupid world.

Prussia looked at the clock on the wall, ticking away like it hadn't a care in the world. Five minutes. Something in his pocket squirmed and he reached down to pet his precious little Gilbird.

He wrapped his fingers around the little ball of feathers and pulled the bird out of his pocket carefully. With one finger he stroked the little bird's head and brought it up to his eyes.

"Hey, buddy," he whispered. "Did I wake you up? I'm sorry."

Still stroking the bird, Prussia looked around the room. Everyone was doing whatever they pleased. It might as well be lunch already, he thought. But no. They wouldn't be allowed out of the room until his little brother gave them the go-ahead. That same little brother who had forced him to come to this meeting. Stupid meeting. All he had wanted was some real Belgian waffles to replace those stupid maple-covered circles of heaven the others called pancakes.

Deciding to take a chance he looked over the table to where Canada was seated. Huh. The kid had fallen asleep. Even asleep he looked terrible. His eyes all hooded and his skin so pale.

No! He refused to feel sorry for him! There was no way he would let the kid creep into his heart again. It had been strictly forbidden. But he did look terrible.

Prussia sighed and looked down at Gilbird who had also fallen asleep in the warmth of his hands. "What am I gonna do?" he asked the sleeping bird. "What will I say?"

A booming voice quieted the room. "Quiet!" Germany had stood up. "It's lunch time." The room whooped happily (especially a certain American). "Maybe," he continued, "we can get something done after we get some food."

The crowd immediately surged to its feet and piled up at the door, pushing and shoving to be the first ones out. Prussia looked over to Canada. The boy was still asleep, but France was about to wake him up. Sh*t! He stood, putting Gilbird back into his pocket, and ran for the door. The crowd only stopped him for a minute and he quickly squeezed through and out the door to the discontent of the nations.

Out in the grey hall he looked back at the mass of people and smiled slightly. There was no way Birdie could make it through that mess. After a moment of self-congratulations he ran down the hall, determined to get as much of a head start as he could. At the doors to the bathrooms he paused to look behind him and catch his breath. He might have been a nation, but he had been chilling in a basement for a good long time, no exercise at all, so yes he had to catch his breath. Get over it.

The hall behind him was empty aside from a slow trickle of nations that were lucky enough to get through the pile-up. But no Matt. He smiled to himself and turned to keep walking and "Holy f*ck!"

Canada glared up at him, tired eyes determined and face flushed with fever. Prussia looked around and then back to the younger nation. He furrowed his brow. "How the hell did you-"

"Gil, I need to talk to you."

Still puzzled over the sudden appearance Gilbert just stared at him I confusion.

Canada rolled his eyes. "There's a back door in the meeting room," he explained. "Everyone thinks it's locked, but the custodians never bother locking it." He crossed his arms over his chest uncomfortably, unhappy that he had had to leave Kumajirou back at the hotel. "Look, I just want to ask you a couple questions."

Prussia pursed his lips. "What kind of questions?" he asked although Matt was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

"You know what they're about," he replied quietly. "And I really don't want to bather you about this, I don't, I just want to get a few answers."

"Matt I really don't want to talk about this right now, okay? I really gotta go." With that said he pushed past his friend and made down the hall. Canada immediately followed after him.

"It seems you always have to go somewhere right when I want to talk to you. Why can't you just answer my questions?"

Prussia continued walking. Because they're difficult questions, Matt. Because I don't know the answers. Because I have no idea how to talk to you anymore. "I don't know."

"Why? How can you not know?"

"I don't know, I just don't."

"Gil, you made a promise to me. You said you would help, but there's nothing. You promised me you could get me out of this without anyone knowing."

"Well apparently I made a few promises I couldn't keep. If anyone should be dealing with that psychotic brother of yours it should be _you _and _your _family. I don't know why you asked me for help if you were so adamant against help."

"He's not psychotic and if I recall correctly I didn't ask you. You offered help and I said no," Canada retorted. It was entirely true, but he still couldn't help but feel a little guilty because he hadn't wanted this to be Prussia's problem, but somehow it ended up being his problem anyways.

"Well why are you so mad about this then? If you didn't want me involved in the first place then why are you mad that I'm not getting involved?"

Honestly, he didn't know. Maybe it was that Prussia had lied to him or maybe that he was being left again, but he was mad and the fact that he couldn't answer that question made his even more furious. He tried to think of something to say in return, but nothing came to mind so he stuttered angrily. "J-just… I don't… W-why can't you just… Just shut up! Just shut up and tell me why! Just tell me why you aren't going to help me and why you have to break your promise to me!"

It was times like this where Canada was thankful for his invisibility. Had he been an average person people would have noticed the argument long ago and come to break them up before he could get any answers, but here, now, with no one to see them he could ask that same question all he liked. And maybe he could get an answer.

"For f*ck's sake, it wasn't my choice! I would love to cream the little psycho, I would, but I just can't."

"He's not a psycho."

"And there's another thing! If he's trying to kill you why are you so quick to defend him? Just bash him like the rest of us!"

"Because he's my brother."

"No." Prussia obviously wasn't going to answer anything without getting some answers of his own. "I bash my own brother all the time and I've heard what you say about America behind his back. What's so f*cking special about this guy? What makes him so different?"

"Because it's not his fault."

"You always say that! You always say nothing is his fault and yet you're so quick to blame me for things I can't control! So what if his boss tells him to do something he doesn't want to, you think I don't want to help? 'Cause I do, but guess what?" he threw his arms up and opened his eyes wide in mock amazement. "My boss says I have to! But for some reason my boss is _my _fault and _his _boss gets all the blame for everything!"

His voice had risen to a full on shout and Matthew instinctively looked around to see if anyone had noticed. The grey halls were empty except for them, but he felt incredibly vulnerable out in the open and only wanted to go somewhere more remote where they could shout all they wanted. But Prussia wasn't going to budge unless he calmed down and Matthew knew from experience that could take a while.

"Gil, it's not like that. Just calm down and–"

"Don't tell me to calm down! Just tell me why he's so special!"

He couldn't help himself. "Tell me why you won't help."

"F*ck my life. F*ck my damn f*cking LIFE! I have told you! I've told you over and over again that my f*cking boss told me that I f*cking can't! So just stop asking and answer my f*cking question!"

"Gil please–"

"No!" he cried. "I've had enough of this! You wanted to deal with your f*cked up brother so fine! You deal with it because I'm sure not!"

That does it. "Just shut up! Just shut up you _hoser_! Stop talking about him like that! He can't help it! You don't know what he's going through, what we went through together! You weren't there! No one was! We did what we had to and he still is! So just shut! Up!"

"You know what? I don't care! I couldn't give a flying f*ck about what happens to you! So just go and play your little war games with your brother, but leave me out of it!"

"You're the one who wanted in in the first place."

"Oh please. I'd rather put a campfire out with my face!"

"Mattie?"

They stopped and turned to find America standing before them casting a furious glare at Prussia. Canada sneezed and Alfred glanced over to him and then back to Prussia.

"Mattie, what's going on?" he asked quietly.

Canada stared at him, breathing heavily from shouting so much, and when he spoke his voice was hoarse. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all."

Alfred frowned, his eyes never leaving the albino. "I told you if you needed my help you only had to ask. But I think I can see for myself that you need help with this."

Gilbert looked between the two of them with a look of anger and disbelief. "Oh f*ck me," he muttered.

Matthew left before he could get caught up in the fight. He really hadn't expected Gilbert to be the one to throw the first punch, but Alfred did sort of have it coming after that comment about Prussia being a dying empire. Not the best of rebuttals, but it seemed to hit a nerve and proved effective.

There was no doubt in his mind that a fight involving America would attract quite a bit of attention, so Matthew knew that was his only chance to get out of there without one of them following him. And he was just so sick of fighting.

So down the hall he went past people who didn't even see him. Grey light dripped down his face like tears. He wasn't running, but his pace was quick and every few seconds he would glance over his shoulder to make sure neither of the two had seen him leave. So charging down the hall and peering over his shoulder he didn't see England until he ran straight into him.

Matthew must have been going at some speed because the collision caused the Brit to stumble back into a potted plant with a grunt.

"What the bloody–" He stopped himself when he saw who it was. With a hand on his shoulder where the younger nation had hit him he stood up and grimaced. "In a hurry are you Matthew?" he asked.

"Sorry," Canada breathed. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I? I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going and–"

"It's okay," England interrupted with a small smile. "I'm fine. In fact it's rather lucky we ran into each other because I wanted to have a quick word with you."

"Y-you did?" Canada glanced back down the hall worriedly, a glance that did not go unnoticed by his brother.

"What is it?" he asked looking over Matthew's shoulder. "What are you looking for?"

"Nothing. It's nothing. What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Oh, well, I was just a bit concerned about your economy."

"M-my economy?"

"Yes. I saw you sneezing in there and you really look awful. I was going to ask you before we left for the break, but I suppose I forgot." He shrugged. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right."

No, I'm not. My brother came back from wherever he was, split away from me and is now trying to kill me. More than half of my land is already gone, my people are panicking and I can't trust my own best friend to help me out. So it you could just spare an army that would be great. I swear I'll give it back to you in mint condition; I just need them to scare him a bit is all.

That's what he could have said. Truthfully what he thought about saying, but he wasn't America. He wasn't outspoken and selfish. And he didn't want to be let down again. So instead he nodded and said, "I'm fine."

England didn't look so sure, but by now Canada had gotten quite good at making people leave the topic alone and being who he was it wasn't hard to distract the person. "I think," he said quietly "you should go find America. Last I saw he was about to destroy Prussia."

A look of alarm and irritation took over the Brit's face. "Oh God, why me?" He started down the hall to where a formidable crowd was beginning to gather and turned to look at Canada over his shoulder. "Sorry, Matthew, but I should go find the wanker before he gets himself killed."

Matt gave his best fake smile and watched with relief as Arthur shoved his way through the gathered nations and disappeared from sight. _Now_, he thought, _to get out of here before the fight breaks up._

~o~

It wasn't long after he got back to his hotel room that Matthew received a call.

He got on the first flight home and took a taxi from the airport. When it pulled into his gravel driveway he frowned. A limousine with blacked-out windows was parked in front of the house and a man in a uniform was leaning against the hood smoking a cigarette casually.

Matthew stepped out after paying the driver and walked over to the uniformed man. The sound of the cab faded into the sounds of traffic, muffled by what little snow there was. The smell of smoke was powerful and as it wafted over to him it left delicate white trails in the air. There were already several snuffed out cigarettes littering the ground around the man's feet, but he chose to ignore it and focus on the matter at hand.

"Where is he?" asked Matthew.

The man gestured toward the house and flicked some grey ash into a small snowbank nearby. Matthew didn't bother thanking him because he knew the man didn't really care and he had more important things to do anyways.

The door was unlocked when he got there and he pushed it open easily. Once inside he dropped his bags in the front hall and threw his coat into the closet along with his gloves and headed down the hallway leaving Kumajirou to do what he would. He had a feeling knew where his brother would be.

And he was right.

When he opened the study door he found Quebec sitting in his chair with his leather-clad feet up on top of the desk and a Rubik's cube in his hands. He was dressed all in a deep blue with a single white flower in his lapel. His bandaged fingers worked the cube vigorously, twisting and turning it into place.

Matt walked over to stand opposite him and with a frown he opened his mouth to speak, but was immediately silenced by a finger. So he frowned again and closed his mouth as Jean twisted the sides of the cube in seemingly random ways. But in just four short moves and one more satisfied twist the sides came together and he smiled proudly to himself.

He set the cube down on the desk and leaned back in the chair to look at his brother with a grin. Canada glared back. "So," Jean chirped. "How've you been?"

"What the hell do you want?"

Quebec frowned in mock hurt and Matthew was instantly reminded of France, but he shook his head and all he saw was his brother with a coy smile. "That hurt Mathieu. But that's okay because I know you didn't mean it. You wouldn't have rushed down here if you meant it. Where were you anyways?"

"I was in the middle of a meeting when you called," Matthew lied. "The only reason I came back was because I want you out of my house."

Jean tutted. "You always were such a terrible liar. You always turn your phone off when you're at a meeting, no matter how trivial." He smiled. "See? I know you. Even if you could lie you couldn't fool me. You were probably sulking in a hotel room somewhere trying to get up the nerve to talk to someone."

Matthew looked down. Only for a moment, but it was enough to confirm Jean's suspicions and his smile widened to show of glinting white teeth. His eyes were somewhere between blue and violet, not quite either one in the shadowy study, and at the sight of them Matthew felt a familiar flutter in his heart.

Stop it.

"Just tell me what you want," he said loudly as he dared to keep his voice from shaking. "Then leave."

The smile disappeared. "You're no fun." He swung his feet off the desk and sat forward in his chair. "I wanted to see how you were, frére. I was concerned about your health what with your economy and the fact that you're losing a war." He leaned his chin on the heels of his hands and smiled. "Just being a good brother." He shrugged. "I thought it would be good for us to talk a few things over too."

"Like what?"

Jean gestured toward the chair next to the door. "Take a seat first, you don't look so good."

"I'd prefer to stand."

"Suit yourself." He stared at Matthew for an uncomfortable while before muttering, "You really don't travel well, do you."

"Just get to the point!" Canada snapped.

Jean held up his bandaged hands to say sorry. "Alright, I'll get to the point. The point is you are losing this war, Mathieu, we both know it. The point is this could all end peacefully if you would just surrender and give me what I want. If you don't then… I can't promise you anything. Who knows how many more people will die. I don't really care about that, but I know you do. And we both know what's happens when a nation disappears." He smirked. "I wonder if it would be faster with you seeing as no one notices you anyways."

Anger flared up inside Matthew as he began to lose patience. "Get out," he snarled. "Get out of my house, right now."

Quebec snorted. "Or what?"

Canada leaned over the desk and opened one of the drawers. He reached in. And pulled out a gun. He pointed the gun at Jean and watched as his brother's expression turned from curiosity to fear. But it only lasted for a second and the fear disappeared like it had never been there. He turned his ever-changing eyes to Matthew. "That's new," he muttered. His eyes moved from the barrel of the gun up to the Canadian. "I know you Mathieu," he said carefully. "You wouldn't use that."

Matthew breathed heavily, knowing his brother was right. But he also knew that Jean loved himself too much to risk it. "Wanna bet?" he asked. The other didn't respond. "Get out of my house."

Without a word Jean stood up and, keeping his eyes on the gun, he walked over to the door and opened it. He was about to walk out, but Canada stopped him. "Wait," he said quietly, looking at him cautiously. Quebec turned to look at him. "What about Newfoundland?"

Jean's face went pale and he looked down to keep his brother from seeing the sadness in his eyes. He didn't answer, just glanced back up and Matthew grimly, chest shaking with each breath, and then he turned and left.

What was that? What did it mean? Where was Newfoundland and what had happened to Jean's hands? Even from that short distance Matthew could see pale scars marring his slender fingers. What had happened to him?

He shook his head. _No, _he thought, _I can't start caring about him again. Not now._ He heard the front door close and, after dropping the gun onto the desk he left the room and went to the front hall. Through the glass around the door he could see a distorted image of Jean climbing into the back of the limo. The door closed, and the man in the uniform, who Matthew guessed was the driver, threw his cigarette away and went around to the other side and climbed into the driver's seat.

The car pulled away and disappeared.

Matthew sighed and turned to go back to the study. But he paused. There on the table next to the door was a slip of paper with his name on it. He reached out and picked it up, unfolding it to reveal words written in careful script that he recognized well.

_Matthew,_

_I'm so sorry about this and I wish I were still there to help you, but as it turns out it's just as painful the second time you disappear as the first. I'll miss you, brother, with all my heart and know that I love you. And be careful. Don't trust him._

_Ben_

Ben. That was his name. Benjamin. Newfoundland was Ben. How could he have forgotten? Ben. Dear sweet Ben. What do you mean? Don't trust who? Quebec? Are you even still there? Oh God. What he said. _I'll miss you too._

Olo! No, I'm not dead, I was just hibernating, but I am back and with me I bring a chapter! I hope you enjoyed it because it was killer to write. I'm not going to explain the title, just look it up if you're curious. It's actually a very nice song.

And yes I am aware that I bleep things out constantly. My friend says it's just like me. But seriously I just don't what my sister feeling a disturbance in the Force…

One last thing I'd like to say before I leave you. My history teacher was talking to us last semester about Quebec's separation and it's actually a bit frightening how close I got to what would happen. I mean there wouldn't be a war or anything but the country actually _would _fall apart much like I've portrayed. Now I'm a bit scared. LOVE YOU QUEBEC DON'T LEAVE US!

Reviews are loved and haters… don't be hatin'.

Don't own Hetalia.


	12. Chapter 11: The Ghashlycrumb Tinies

**Chapter 11**

A is for Amy Who Fell Down the Stairs

~o~

He was worried. No, more than worried. Matt was terrified. As winter progressed nothing happened. There were no attacks and no sign of the Quebecois army. Could it be the end or was it simply the calm before the storm? There was no way of knowing, and without knowing there was no way Matthew could stop wondering.

"Hey, Matt."

He started and looked up from the coffee on the table in front off him and to his brother. Alfred looked at him in that way that Canada just couldn't quite understand, but the look passed and the American nodded at the coffee. "You should drink that or it'll get cold."

Matthew looked back at the drink, which he had been stirring for quite a while and sighed. "Yeah. Sorry." He put aside the stirring stick and lifted the coffee to his lips. Cold. Oh well, caffeine probably wasn't a good idea anyways. He leaned back in his chair.

Alfred smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "So you wanna get going?" he asked. "Or do you wanna stay here where it's warm?"

Matthew shrugged. "Up to you. I could do with a walk, but if you don't want to brave the cold then…"

"Ha! I'm the hero I can take a little chill! C'mon, let's go."

They left the café and were immediately struck with cold. Most of the snow had turned to slush but a frosty wind ripped through their jackets and chilled them to the bone. "Sh*t," muttered America as he hugged himself tightly. "How the hell do you deal with this stuff year round, Mattie?"

Canada smiled. "You know, contrary to popular belief I do have all four seasons."

"Well, yeah, duh, but… why do they all have to be so cold?"

He laughed and said nothing as they continued to walk. It was too cold for clouds so the sun beat down on them and did nothing to ease the chill. Alfred turned his face to the sun and smiled again.

"God, that feels good. How the hell can it be so cold?"

"Do you wanna go back?"

"Hell no. Heroes never get cold." He shivered. "Although, even a b*tchen' country like me needs warmth to keep my awesome levels up."

Canada laughed. "You're starting to sound like Prussia now."

"God, don't mention that guy." Alfred touched his nose, which had been broken during his fight, and grimaced. It was still not entirely healed and it would always be a bit crooked now. "My poor nose," he said. "I'll never play the harp again."

"You played the harp?"

"I did. But then I took a fist to the nose."

They continued down the street, joking with one another in an attempt to keep their minds off the sick feeling of fear that had been sitting in their stomachs for the longest time. So they talked about nothing and forgot about everything. Since the fight America had been spending more time with Canada and the two had bonded quite a bit. They got together almost every day for lunch or a movie when America was able to convince his brother.

Today was just lunch and with that done the two were reluctant to part. So Matthew suggested that they go back to his place for a movie, which America gladly agreed to. When they arrived they were greeted by a sleepy looking polar bear and after taking off their jackets they retreated to the living room.

America wanted to watch a horror movie and Canada reluctantly agreed, so they ended up putting on an old favourite, Nosforatu. Popcorn was a must so Alfred disappeared into the kitchen, insisting he knew where everything was, and after some nerve-wrecking bangs, clangs and curses, there came drifting the pleasant smell of popcorn.

Sitting on the couch, Matthew listened to the sounds of his brother in the kitchen and wondered if his fever had gone down any. For the past while he had been avoiding physical contact so that Al couldn't feel how bad he was, but maybe he felt a little better today? In any case there was no point in worrying because his boss had been working on some plans to get the economy out of the gutter again and they seemed to be working for the most part.

There was suddenly a tiny sound from his face, small and high, and the vision in his right eye blurred a bit. Matt frowned and took off his glasses. He squinted at them and inspected the glass. There was a small crack in the right lens, only hairline, but still there. He tried to ignore the feeling in his gut. _Must be the cold,_ he thought. _The sudden heat of the house could have cracked them._

He ran his finger over the crack and immediately pulled back as his skin caught on it and split. A droplet of blood appeared on his finger and he stuck it in his mouth to suck away the coppery stuff. After giving the glasses a once over to make sure there were no more cracks he put them back on his face.

"What's up with your glasses?" asked America who was now standing behind him.

"Nothing, just a crack," he replied, reaching up to take one of the overly full bowls from him. "Did you ruin my kitchen?"

"It was like that when I got there. Now come on, I wanna get this thing started." He hopped over the back of the couch and sat beside Canada, managing to spill half of his popcorn in the process.

"Watch it." Matt brushed the food off his clothes and onto the floor where he could clean them up later and then reached for the remote.

They turned off the lights to enhance their movie-watching experience and turned on the film. Despite Al talking through most of it and the fact that he couldn't see properly, Matthew found himself actually enjoying the movie and each of his brothers comments were no longer irritating, but funny and endearing.

As usual the movie had bad special effects, was absolutely terrifying and was sure to give them both nightmares for a week, but he loved it.

When it was over America said he had to go to a meeting, which was supposed to have started a half an hour ago. Canada cleaned his kitchen, which had indeed been ransacked and cleaned the popcorn off the couch and the carpet.

He had just finished and was standing in the living room, wondering what to do next, when his head began to swim. His vision blurred even more, and not because of his glasses, and the room began to churn and rock unsteadily. Before he could fall over, Matthew sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands and waited for the dizziness to stop.

Kumajirou jumped up next to him and rubbed his head against his friend's side worriedly. Matt reached out to rub the bear's ear and smiled. "I'm okay," he said to him. "I think I just need some sleep."

~o~

_Their hands gripped each other, forming a bridge under which smaller children ran, their faces glowing with joy and their mouths moving to a song he couldn't make out._

_Their arms came down, trapping one and the child simply laughed._

_ Someone said something, and then someone else._

_The child ran away and the boy began to shout._

_ They got mad and then the boy pulled a knife and he came nearer and nearer and nearer and then there was blood._

Canada woke up.

The ceiling stared back at him and there was a solid warmth next to him, which had to be Kumajirou. Blue light sent shadows everywhere and gave a steady glow to the room.

He lay there for a while more, waiting for sleep to return to his foggy mind, but it would not come. So he sat up and ran his hands over his face. Then he looked about at the blue room for something to occupy his mind for a while. The window beckoned him so he slid out of bed, careful not to disturb the slumbering bear, and padded slowly over to it.

All was silent and the snow shone with the glow of the moon. Tiny footprints of some nocturnal creature cast shadows in the yard and branches of a bush poked through in some places. Matthew gazed out at them and sighed. His throat tickled.

He turned away and went back over to the bedside table and picked up his glasses. There was a new crack in them, near the edge and a bit longer than the first was. He put them on and frowned at the blurriness they caused. Then out the door he went and down the stairs and into the kitchen.

He poured himself a glass of water and brought it out to the living room. The TV switched on with a click and the news boomed out. With a grimace he turned the volume down.

It was footage of a battle that had happened earlier that day and a woman was talking about the strength of the Quebecois army and how it was not shrinking like his but growing instead. The battle had not ended well and the enemy troops had taken over several cities near the border of Alberta and the territories.

So it wasn't the cold then that broke his glasses. Matthew had known it so it was no surprise, but it still hurt to hear it spoken so easily. The picture changed to the newsroom and the woman continued to talk about the past victories of Quebec. The man beside her took over for a while to give a list of shortages like fish, water, lumber, maple and other things that Canada was known for and loved. They talked about the prosperous economy in Quebec and about how the odds were good for them and not for Canada.

Matthew wanted to cry. He could have, there was no one to see him and there was no reason he shouldn't, but somehow he was just too tired to cry. It was all too much too quickly and his groggy mind couldn't take it all in. He knew it would be worse after he got some sleep, but it wasn't like he could sleep. It just felt impossible at that point.

Then the newscaster said something about America. He said that Alaska was at risk and there was a high possibility that it would be next.

_Why didn't he tell me?_ Matthew wondered. _I was with him all day and he didn't say a word about this. Am I really so ignorant?_ There was no answer.

So he turned off the television. The room fell into darkness again and Matt sat on the couch, staring straight ahead until he could see again. Then he got up and wandered back to the stairs. He didn't turn on the light because he didn't need to and he didn't want to disturb anyone. Who? He didn't know.

He reached his room, but instead of going in he kept walking down the hall. So many empty rooms. He glanced in each one in turn and remembered who used to be there. Sometimes he would have to stop and think and try to remember, but mostly it was easy. Ben. How could he forget Ben? Was he really that self-important? So obsessed with himself that he forgot his brother's name?

Yes. Just like they had always said.

But he refused to forget the others and as he walked and thought and remembered he remembered names as well as places. Some were easier than others, but he remembered them all.

Then he got to Quebec's room and Matthew stopped. He went inside. It was a nice room, the nicest in the house and he had given it to the one who hated him most. Because he had to. He remembered when they were little and they used to meet in this room and hide under the covers and pretend it was an impenetrable fort that only they could get into.

No one else. Just you.

Canada moved about the room, running his fingers over the headboard and on the door of the wardrobe where they used to pretend Narnia was. He opened it. Rather than fur coats like had been in the wardrobe in the beloved book there were suits and vests and shirts and pants and on the top shelf were pins. He must have forgotten them.

There were six pins there, three of his flag, two gold ones that had been gifts from France and a single red maple leaf. Matthew picked up the leaf and put it in his pocket and then he closed the wardrobe.

But then he stopped. There had been something else. Something near the back that glinted at him just before the door closed. He opened the wardrobe and looked again. And yes there was something sitting at the back of the wardrobe shelf. Matthew reached in and brought it out.

It was a ring. A simple gold wedding band that was small enough to fit a child's slender finger.

So he had kept it then. Matthew couldn't help but smile at it. It still shone as much as it had the day they gotten them.

Canada closed his hand around it and went back over to the bed. He flopped down on top of the covers and turned to look out the window at the eastern sky. Too cold for clouds. The stars shone. The ring felt so small. So precious. And he lay there, not caring about the time and he remembered all they had been through together. He remembered their rebellion against England when France had lost the war. He remembered lying in the grass on a hill in Paris with cicadas buzzing everywhere.

Truth be told they had more bad memories together than good, but the good were the best. And he would never forget any of them again.

The skyline was growing redder and he watched as the sun rose on another morning and things started to wake up. But even when the sun was well above the trees Canada stayed where he was. His limbs felt heavy and his head ached. There was no doubt that his fever was high so he didn't even bother to check.

But when the sun was above the window he finally stirred. He got up and went back down the hall to his own room. He took off his glasses and put them with the ring on the bedside table and then he lay down, pulling up the covers to fend off the cold.

And he slept.

When Matthew woke up again it was late afternoon. He rolled over, away from the window and the light and tried to get more comfortable. There was no way he would be going anywhere that day.

The phone rang and he let it go to voicemail. He could just hear his brother's voice coming from the machine downstairs. An hour later the phone rang again and again a half hour after that. At one point his cell phone rang and he reached for it. He glanced at the caller ID and, seeing that it wasn't his government, denied the call.

He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone.

And when he looked up, over at the table he saw that there was another crack in his glasses.

~o~

Finally there came a call he couldn't refuse. It was his boss and from the tone of his voice it sounded important, so Canada got up and put on some clean clothes and headed to the Parliament Buildings.

He knocked quietly on the door. "Come in," he heard. He entered the room and found his boss hard at work with a mound of paperwork.

"I could come back later if you want, sir," he said meekly.

The prime Minister looked up and said, "No, no, it's fine. Just take a seat and we'll get started in a moment." He gestured to a chair opposite his desk and Matthew sat down. It was uncomfortable and seemed to have been designed specifically to cause people discomfort. Maybe it was a tactical thing like "You're sitting in front of the most powerful man in Canada, you should feel smaller."

For a couple minutes more his boss continued his work, bent over the desk and scribbling away. Eventually he sat up and set down his pen. He looked at his country and Matthew looked right back at those warm brown eyes.

"I'm sure it's come to your attention," he began, "That Alberta is under attack." He paused for Canada to nod. "And I'm sure you know how the war has been going for us so far. The thing is, we've become too weak. It's impossible for us to defend ourselves any longer."

Matthew frowned. "But, sir, Alberta is surrounded by our land. We have every advantage."

"Not every one, Canada. Unfortunately we lack the brute force that is necessary to maintain our current position."

"But if we pull them out…"

Prime Minister Jessup nodded solemnly. "We will be completely cut off from B.C. But there is absolutely no way we can leave them there."

"I know."

"I've put in the calls and the paperwork. The troops will be pulled out tomorrow."

"That soon?" This seemed surreal.

"I managed to get it all in fast," he explained. "Some will remain with artillery and such to defend British Columbia, but it's doubtful that it will be enough." He sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I know this is hard for you, asking for you to pretty much give up two Provinces in one, but you have to understand that it's for the greater good."

The economy would never survive. "I do. I understand perfectly, sir. What's done is done."

"I'm sorry Matthew," said his boss. Matthew looked up from the desk at the sound of his real name. "But there's nothing more we can do."

"Yes sir."

He went home.

By the time he arrived it was growing dark again and rather than go through his nightly routine he went straight to bed, much to tired to do anything else. He set his glasses down on the bedside table and lay down with Kumajirou curled up beside him.

But Matthew didn't sleep. Instead he lay staring up at the glasses and more and more cracks formed and grew and snaked their way across the clear surface. There was nothing more he could do but that, just watch as the world fell apart around him. As he slowly died, day after day and could do nothing to stop it from happening. The fever came back in the night and a cold sweat gathered on his back and a pit grew in his throat.

In the morning he decided to call Prussia again and beg for his help one more time. To his disappointment it was Germany who answered.

"Ja?" he asked deeply.

Matthew lost his nerve then and there, but he managed to make himself speak. "H-hello, Germany. Is P-Prussia there?"

He heard the German call out "East". Someone hissed, "Tell him I'm not here." Matthew hung up.

Every few minutes he checked the time and in between he stared at the news, waiting for the moment when the final soldier would be pulled out. He didn't dare move from the couch and truthfully he wasn't sure he had the strength anyways. Eventually the time came.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach Canada brought his glasses into the living room. He set them on the table carefully and sat back on the couch staring at them. By now the lenses were covered in webs of cracks making them utterly useless for anything. He supposed Prime Minister Jessup was right. There was no point in holding out any longer. Alberta was lost, just like that, so quickly. There was nothing more they could do.

So he glanced to the clock and back. It was time.

Before his eyes the cracks grew and spread, turning the glass from clear to a foggy white. Maybe there was no point to a war any more. Maybe they should just give up entirely and surrender all of the land to Quebec. And as he watched at glasses shattered, sending tiny shards of glass across the coffee table and onto the floor. Or maybe it was time to fight back with more than he had ever before.

I know it's a really short chapter, but in actuality this was originally two chapters. Or one and a half. The other half of the chapter is now with the next chapter which was also insanely short.

But never fear, things are about to pick up, so hold on tight.

Reviews keep me going, so thanks to all the reviewers, favouriters and alerters (they're words, what're you talkin' about?). And of course to all you readers! :D

Don't own Hetalia any more than I own the Bugs Bunny and Tweety show. Which is none.


	13. Chapter 12: Snip Snap Dragon

'**Chapter 12**

Snip Snap Dragon

~o~

The sound of footsteps drew closer and America shifted impatiently from foot to foot. It wasn't terribly cold anymore, but there was still a chill in the air and he had his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his bomber jacket. Come on, hurry up. The door opened and Canada smiled out at him briefly before gesturing for him to enter. There was something odd about him.

Alfred went in and turned to his little brother who was just closing the door. There was definitely something different about him today, but Alfred just couldn't figure out what. "Dude," he said. "I've been trying to call you for ages now. There's a new horror movie coming out and we just _have _to go to the premier tonight."

"Geez, Al, I don't know." Matt rubbed the back of his head nervously. "I haven't been feeling well lately and I think I just want to rest up a bit."

"Aw come on, I've been waiting for this movie for like a million years and all you've been doing the past few months is resting. Please? I'll make it up to you, I promise. Look, I'll buy you a gallon of maple syrup or some of that gross Canadian beer or something. Come on!" he put his hands together and put on what he hoped was an appealing face.

"No! I'm sorry, but I really don't want to go."

Alfred flung his hands up in the air and rolled his eyes. "You never want to go anywhere! You're letting this thing get to you when what you really have to do is go out and have some fun! Let loose! That's how you beat this! I mean look at you! You've already done something, I can tell, I'm not sure what, maybe a haircut, but it looks good and you look a lot better than you have been."

"A haircut?"

"Well I won't know! Did you lose some weight? Get some colour? Were you working out? Tell me!"

"I'm not wearing my glasses," he replied haltingly.

Oh yeah, now he could see it. "Going for contacts. Excellent. That means we can see the movie in 3-D better! I'll just keep Texas here or something! Come on this movie is my life!" He waited for an answer, but all he got in response was his brother looking at him like he was an idiot. Alfred's face fell as he realized that they wouldn't be going to the movie after all. "We're not going to the movies, are we?"

Matthew shook his head.

"Why not? You love the movies!"

"You really don't get it do you?" Matthew asked as he walked back down the hall. Alfred followed and they ended up in the kitchen where Canada opened up the fridge and pulled out a can of ginger ale. "I have twenty-twenty vision."

"Yeah, me too," Alfred interrupted. "Texas is only there for the oil and because sometimes at night it does that cool thing were the glasses turn into shades and then it looks really cool. But sometimes this weird black stuff comes out of the frames whenever there's a massive oil gush or something and it gets on my face and one time it even got in my eye and I tried to tell Iggy I had oil in my eye, but he didn't understand because he doesn't wear glasses to represent anything and oh sh*t your glasses were a part of your land weren't they?"

"Yeah."

"Damn, you lost another state or province or whatever? Which one?"

Canada walked past him and through the door as he was talking and America had to rush to catch up with him. "Alberta," he told him over his shoulder. "A few days ago." When they came to the living room Matt turned around to face his brother and it was then that Alfred could see the panic in his eyes. "It's bad, Al, really bad. There's no way I can protect British Columbia if I don't have Alberta. And if I lose B.C. then my economy is going to collapse on itself and then what am I going to do, eh? I might get so sick that I won't be able to defend the rest of my land."

"Hey, hey, hey, woah, calm down. I can help, you just need to say the word and I'll send my whole army over to kick Quebec's *ss for you."

Canada shook his head and sat down on the couch. America sat down too. "I think it's too late, Al," Matt said in a wavering voice. "I think I waited too long."

"No it's not. It's never too late." He shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged facing the other. "I may be an idiot when it comes to other things, but believe me I know war. Heck, I beat England and Russia, I know for a fact that you can beat that pansy."

"You were never really at war with Russia," Matthew laughed quietly. "You two were just arguing about nukes."

"And yet I still beat him, that's how amazing I am." Matt still wasn't smiling. He would have to up the ante. "But you're more amazing than me. You beat me back in 1812. If you can beat me you can beat anything."

"I only beat you thanks to England. Besides it's a lot more complicated than that."

"Oh come on, how bad can it be? It's not like he has nukes or anything! But then again, I guess you don't either. But still, you've been around a lot longer than him, you're army has to be way better than his."

"You'd be surprised."

"'Kay, that's it." Alfred grabbed his brother's shoulders and turned him so they were looking each other in the eyes. "I don't give a f*ck what you think anymore. Stop moping around, get your *ss to Europe and ask for help. I'll give you whatever you want, all the guys all the missiles, I don't care. I've heard you gripe enough to know how much that f*cker cheats at everything and it wouldn't surprise me if he was cheating at this war."

"Can you cheat at war?" Matthew wondered aloud.

"Probably. But that's not the point. The point is I don't think I'll ever get why you won't pull out the big guns on this guy and that means it's up to me to do it for you. Now, I've got some guys out in the Middle East and some others are…" Should he tell him? "Never mind. But I've got plenty left to kick some French *ss."

"Québécois."

"Stop interrupting. So, I've got a bunch, but we can always use more so I'm thinking we can get Iggy to put in some. Maybe French-fry too, he likes you well enough. But you're gonna have to get over your issues first and get to Europe to see them." He snapped his fingers. "I've got it. Next week is this months World Meeting, you can talk to them then."

Matthew frowned. He was sitting like Alfred now with his legs crossed and the two sat facing one another on the couch like when they were kids. "I don't know," he said. "This isn't their problem and I don't know if I want to hurt Quebec."

Alfred shrugged. "As I said, I don't really care what you think anymore. You're going to that f*cking meeting and you are going to get on your knees and beg your 'parents' for an army for your birthday."

Now Matt was smiling. "My birthday is in July."

Really? He thought it was in April or something. "Well, Christmas then. Oh wait, that's over. Never mind," he said shaking his head. "Point is _you_," he poked Canada in the chest, "are going to get yourself an army and _I_," he pointed to himself, "am going to be a hero and save your pansy *ss from that jerkwad next door. So say it. Say 'I will get myself an army and win a war.' Say it."

"I will get an army and win a war," Matt said.

"Good now give me props." Alfred held out his fist. Matt gave him props. "Sweet. Now lets watch a movie." He jumped up and went over to a cabinet next to the TV where he knew his brother kept an impressive stash of DVD's. He scanned them quickly before finding the one he wanted and pulling it out. With a flourish he turned and held it out for his bro to see.

Matt gave a half smile half grimace. "Really?"

"Hell yeah." He turned around and put the DVD in the player. Alfred ran and jumped into the couch and grabbed the remote control from the coffee table. With the press of one button the screen flickered to life and from the speakers burst forth the marvelous music of the Space Balls main menu. Canada groaned as America cheerfully pressed the play button and the movie launched into its opening theme.

And so passed two hours. They hardly paid any attention to the movie, they were too busy wrestling and plotting surprise noogies. At one point Kumajirou walked in looking sleepy. He took one look around and then walked away. After Space Balls was over they battled it out for next pick. Alfred won and he chose Captain America. There was a good deal of tackling and shouting before the movie was finally on and once it was America was silent, intent on watching his personal hero defeat evil. He mouthed along with the characters. He knew every line of the movie and he was damn proud of it. After that came Canada's choice (America let him win that one) and he picked Mystery Men. It was some weird thing about wannabe super heroes with stupid powers like super farts, throwing forks, throwing temper tantrums and hitting people with shovels. It was ridiculous, but Al couldn't stop laughing.

Six movies later it was dark out. The TV screen was showing the credits for Alien 3, Alfred was lying on a recliner, his legs hanging over one arm and his head resting on the other. Matt was sitting upside down on the couch, his legs thrown over the back and his head hanging off the seat. The younger reached up and grabbed the remote, turning off the TV with a small click. The two of them sighed.

"I feel like my eyeballs are going to fall out," America complained loudly. "I'm so tired. What time is it?"

"One fifty."

"Ooooooooooh my Goooooooooooood." He sighed. Then he pulled himself up and looked over to Matt. Matt looked up at him. "I'm making coffee. Want some?"

Matt shrugged. "I guess I could use some." He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand tiredly.

He looked like he was about to fall asleep right then and there. Alfred Jogged into the kitchen and after a quick search found the coffee maker and filled it with grounds and water. It didn't take long so he stayed out in the kitchen to wait, slapping himself lightly every now and again and jogging in place to keep from falling asleep on his feet. When the coffee was done he poured some into two mugs he found in a cupboard.

He peered around the doorway to ask his bro what he wanted in his coffee, but he stopped himself from saying anything. Matt had fallen asleep, curled up loosely on the couch. Alfred sighed. He grabbed his own coffee (two sugars, lots of cream) and went over to sit on the opposite end of the couch.

The kid looked exhausted, it was probably a good thing that he was sleeping, it looked like he didn't get enough sleep. He was dreaming; his hands were twitching and so was his mouth and he was looking around under his eyelids. It must have been vivid.

Al sighed and took a sip of coffee. Matt wasn't the only one with problems. America was dealing with some stuff too. He had decided not to tell Canada about the threat against Alaska or the recession yet because he knew it would just make him worry.

Matt was an odd case when it came to concern. His selflessness always had an air of selfishness to it. When there was something wrong with someone else he would be all over it with worry and help, but if it was something to do with himself he would become obsessed with it. He wouldn't want anyone to know because he wanted to stew in his own self-pity and say it was what was best for everyone. Al wasn't sure why it was like that, it just was.

But what he did know was that if he got Matt to ask England or France for help then it could solve both of their problems. Maim two birds with one rock or however that saying went. Because he wanted Matt to get better and he wanted to get better too, because unlike some people he wasn't ashamed to admit that he was a self-important b*st*rd. A good-looking one mind you.

He reached over to touch Matt's face, but stopped short at the sound of a growl. Kumajirou had returned and was standing next to the couch, hackles raised and teeth bared. Al pulled his hand back and received a snort of satisfaction from the bear. He shook out his glossy white fur and lumbered over to sniff at Matt's face. With a groan he heaved himself up to curl up next to his friend. Matt curled around the bear and shoved his face into his fur in his sleep.

It was well past two in the morning now and Al decided it was time to go. He left the mug in the kitchen and went out the door as quietly as he could. The night was cold and a frosty wind blew his hair into his eyes. A dog was barking somewhere and as he walked to his car and all the good warm feelings he had had that night with his bro fell away he began to feel exhausted.

Tuesday was the World Meeting, so that would be the day that Matt could finally get help. But he felt an edge of doubt. It wouldn't be unlike Matt to skip out and just stay home. He would need to reinforce the idea in everyone's heads. He needed to tell someone first, just in case Canada decided not to come through.

He waited until it was morning for the sake of politeness (he didn't want to have to wake anyone up in the middle of the night) and got on a plane to England. By the time he arrived it was dark, which was odd because it had only been about eight hours, by logic it should have been late afternoon at the most. But in any case he was there, so he got a cab and was at Iggy's house within the hour.

After paying the sleepy cab driver in pound notes he'd gotten at the airport he climbed the steps and knocked on the door. Five minutes and a million knocks later the door finally opened. The nice lady informed him that Mister Kirkland lived next door and two minutes later he was sitting at a table in a kitchen with Arthur sitting across from him and looking like he was about to fall asleep.

The Brit took a sip from the steaming cup of tea he clutched with both hands and looked up at his brother wearily. "What was so important that you had to wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me?" he asked dully.

"Hey, it's not my fault your country runs on some weird alternate time frame dimension thingy is it? I was nice and waited until morning to come over."

"God, you really are an idiot." Arty sighed and took another sip of tea. "In any case there has to be a reason for this visit, so what is it?"

Alfred sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. Then he let it go. "Okay, so… okay. Here's the deal. I have to tell you something because someone else is too scared to tell anyone."

"I know," England said with small nod.

"It's Mattie."

"…I know."

~o~

Canada drummed his fingers on the meeting table impatiently. His nerves were frayed beyond repair and he felt like death. He must have slept oddly last night because his back ached and there was a crook in his neck that just wouldn't go away.

Fortunately America seemed to be making a real effort to not get involved in the arguments that were taking place. He kept exchanging glances with England though and that just made Canada feel a bit uncertain. The American's glances were more like glares, but the Brit's were placid like he were patiently waiting for something to happen and had been waiting for so long that it didn't matter if he had to wait another hundred years. There was something going on between those two.

He had decided that he should ask for help were England and France. It wasn't because they were the ones America had suggested, but mostly due to their relationships. They were the two he knew best both politically and personally and after decades of alliances and treaties they were almost sworn to protect him, or at least as close as you could get.

For a brief period he had even considered asking Russia for help, after all they did have a fairly good relationship, but he quickly realized that America would never allow it and discarded the idea entirely. Netherlands had been an option too, it was said they had the best relationship in the world politically speaking, but he wasn't certain the cold distant man would be so quick to agree with the statement. They hadn't spoken for months.

So it boiled down to his family and he supposed it would be enough. It would have to be. They were the only ones he had. Besides with America's military power alone they would have the upper hand. So long as Quebec's army hadn't grown, which was a very likely problem. Maybe that was what England was looking at America for. Did he remember was Canada had told him in the 80's? What he had asked? He doubted it. But still…

Denmark stood at the chalkboard confidently, writing things down and telling them something about Greenland. Up next was Austria and then America. After that was the lunch break, no doubt scheduled to give everyone time to fight over whatever America's topic was. Hopefully they wouldn't need it because that was when he planned to talk to the others.

Denmark finished with a flourishing bow and a broad smile. A couple of people applauded politely as he took his seat next to Norway. Germany called for Austria. The call was not answered. He called again and looked around. As it turned out the Austrian had decided to stay home that day and take some time to enjoy Prussia being busy and Hungary being out on a business related trip. So, with great dread, Germany called America up.

Canada was nudged in the ribs. He looked up at America's grinning face. "Come on," he said.

"Wait, what?" There was no time to protest as the older North American grabbed the younger's arm and dragged him up to the front. "Al, what are you doing?"

"Calm down and hold this!"

A rolled up sheet of Bristol board was shoved into his hands. The Canadian unrolled it to reveal a very detailed map of the world that had arrows, circles and notes written on it in Sharpie. He turned it to face the people sitting at the table and held it up for them to see. No one was paying attention, but America was buoyant as he plunged into an incredibly detailed description of how they were going to destroy communism once and for all.

Canada blocked him out when he started talking about aliens and llama trackers ("Because everyone knows that the best way to find commies is with a llama!") The pain in his back was getting worse from having to hold up the stupid map and the day looked so nice outside. He wished he could be out there. Why oh why did they have to hold this meeting in Florida?

A shout arose among the catatonic nations that drew all of their attention. It was China and he was standing now, pointing at the map Canada was holding with a look of surprise on his face. _This is why you don't try to exterminate someone's political beliefs, Al, _he thought angrily.

"Look!" China was shouting. "The map! It's floating!" What?

The others gasped. Italy cried out. Norway squinted at the place where Canada was standing and asked, "How are you doing that? Is it a troll? I don't see one."

America glanced at Canada. Canada's face was burning and there was a pressure behind his eyes that felt like tears. No, he wouldn't cry. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Denmark had wandered over and was crouching next to Canada while the others shouted out their theories of how the map was floating. He had his hand on his chin and was squinting at Canada's feet. His hand shot out and surprise took over his face when his hand unexpectedly hit solid legs. That did it.

He threw the map on the ground and stepped forward. "No!" he shouted. Everyone's eyes shot to him. "No! It's not f*cking magic! Or a f*cking troll! It's me, mother-_f*cking_ Canada! Ca-na-da." His vision was blurred in one eye from gathering tears. "Get it right or get the f*ck out of my sight! It's not like it's that hard to remember!" He spun around to face America who was standing there looking shocked. "And you! For f*ck's sake, Al! Get over you issues with Communism! The only reason you hate them is because of that stupid Cold War with Russia! He's not Communist any more! And that wasn't even a real war, it was just a stupid arms race that was probably just a cover for some sexual tension or some sh*t like that!"

A tear tracked down his cheek. God damn it, he was crying. Just what he needed, here in the heat of the moment crying like a baby. But he didn't wipe it away, that would just draw more attention to it. He looked back over at the frightened faces around the overly-large table, staring at him wide-eyed. "What?" he ask angrily. His back was hurting and it just made it all worse. He dared them to say something to him. Nobody did, but a couple of them touched their own cheek where the tear had fallen on his. Italy was cowering.

_Good,_ he thought, _Let him cower. I don't have to deal with this sh*t._

He turned to leave, but America was blocking his way. "Move!" His brother didn't respond. Instead he leaned in to look Canada in the eye and frowned. Canada frowned back, see how he liked it. America didn't back off. Instead he reached up to wipe the tear off of his cheek with two fingers and held them up to show him. Well that was weird. Instead of tears there was blood on his fingers. But where did…

Oh.

America grabbed his brother by the arm and led him out of the room. "C'mon, Matt," he said. "Time to go."

When they reached the bathroom America turned around and locked the door. He turned to Canada and crossed his arms. "What the f*ck?" He didn't say it angrily, but more curiously and with a tint of confusion and worry.

Canada didn't really notice though, he was too busy looking in the mirror. Deep red blood was seeping from his right eye and dripping down his cheek like a tear, which must have been what he had felt. Some of it was smudged on his cheek from where America had wiped it off and a bit had dripped onto the collar of his shirt. His eye was bloodshot and was beginning to sting furiously.

America turned on the sink. "You need to clean up." The younger nodded numbly.

The water was warm as he scrubbed it on his face and cleaned out his eye. He squirted some soap onto a sheet of paper towel and lathered it onto his cheek. The red had stained his skin pink and it wouldn't come out. America stood leaning up against the counter silently staring at the floor. Canada tried to clean the blood off of his collar, but there was no way it was coming out. Blood was still oozing out of his eye, so every few seconds he had to dab at it with some more paper towel.

"Matt?" America said quietly. "What you said back there. About me and Russia. You didn't mean it did you?"

Canada sighed. "No. Al. I'm sorry, I don't know what got into me. I just couldn't take it anymore."

America nodded. "That's okay."

Canada's back hurt.

"So… What is it? Your eye."

"Um," he thought. "Vancouver. A major city on my west coast."

"So, does that mean that he's there? Geez. We have to tell somebody. Did you talk to France of Iggy yet?"

"I haven't gotten the chance."

"Well, it's lunch now. Should I go get them?"

"No." Canada ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Give it a while. I don't want to talk to them after that."

It wasn't rare for a nation to shout or sling insults. In fact it was a daily event. But for Canada it felt like a major embarrassment. He was supposed to be the peaceful country who avoided conflict and inspired love and goodness. Maybe it was too big of an aspiration, nations were born fighting, but he still felt like his act of an unforgivable one. God damn his back. Maybe he should talk to them. Maybe apologizing earlier rather than later would be the best choice of action.

"Matt? You okay?"

"Yeah," he lied. "Why?"

"You're rubbing your back a lot. Plus you've got that sort of sad thoughtful look. Are you sure you're okay? Don't lie to me again."

Canada wanted to say he was fine, but one look at his brother changed his mind. He looked very serious for once and he had that odd pained expression on his face. "No," he said finally. "Not for a long time."

America grabbed him into a hug so strong it hurt and Canada hugged back gratefully. After a bit America pulled back to look his brother in the eye. "'Kay, now we're gonna go and talk to Iggy okay? And then you're going to get help." He unlocked the door and swung it open.

"Wait." Canada pushed the door closed again. "What am I supposed to say? It's not exactly the easiest thing to just up and ask for an army."

"Sure it is. All you have to do is… Matt?"

Canada wasn't paying attention. He was busy. The pain in his back was quickly growing and a terrible heat was spreading across his skin.

All of a sudden a blast of pain shot up his spine. He cried out as his back ached in and he fell to his knees. His hands reached back and tore desperately at his shirt, trying to get rid of whatever was hurting. But there was nothing there and the pain was deep in his spinal cord, burning and sending flames through his whole body.

America was shouting something, but Canada couldn't hear it over the sound of his own screaming and the other screaming. The screaming in his head. It just kept going and going and he could hear people dying and suffering and it was all coming back to him where he lay on the tiled floor of the bathroom. He rolled around, trying to find some way to lie that wouldn't send huge amounts of excruciating pain through his whole body. America had disappeared and Canada closed his eyes tightly. Red flames flickered there in the blackness behind his eyelids and as his back screeched so did his eye. Blood was running freely down his cheek and onto the floor. Spasms racked his body and he writhed in agony. When would it end?

The bathroom door burst open and he opened his eyes just enough to see a group of horrified nations led by America looking down at him. He shouted and closed his eyes and another wave of pain hit him full on. Light exploded behind his eyes and suddenly there was nothing but numbness. He lay still. The floor was hot beneath him. Someone was crouched next to him, but he couldn't open his eyes to see who it was. They were saying something to him or to someone else. It sounded so far away and growing farther.

"I'm sorry," they were saying. "Matthew, I'm so so sorry I didn't believe you…"

Nothing.

Ta-da! Thanks for all the reviews, you guys are awesome! Late again, I know, but I think it happens so often that it kind of isn't late. It's just updated very far apart. You're lucky I got sick or this thing would never have been written, there was just too much going on, school, illness, family stuff, Homestuck, the usual.

Back to the plot. Canada freaked. Yeah. That's all I have to say. Please don't rage flip the table, it all makes sense and no this is not the end, that would just be stupid. Plenty more chapters to go. In fact, I'll go write the next one right now!

DO NOT OWN HETALIA OR ANY OF THE MOVIES OR PRODUCTS MENTIONED IN THE STORY ABOVE


	14. Chapter 13: London Bridge

**Chapter 13**

London Bridge

~o~

They held their hand high to form a bridge under which their younger siblings ran giggling happily. Matthew was happy too. So was Jean, but he was doing his best you hide it under a look of contempt. But Matt knew him better than anyone and even though he wasn't having the time of his life Jean was definitely enjoying the company of their younger siblings. But even if he had an image to maintain it wouldn't hurt for him to sing the song with them. Even Matthew was singing.

"'Oranges and Lemons,' say the Bells of St. Clements."

"'You owe me five farthings,' say the Bells of Saint Martin's."

"'When will you pay me?' say the Bells of Old Bailey."

"'When I grow rich,' say the Bells of Shorditch."

"'When will that be?' say the Bells of Stepney."

"'I do not know,' say the Great Bells of Bo."

"Here comes a candle to light you a bed,"

"And here comes a chopper to chop off your head."

"Chip chop chip chop the last man's _dead!_"

They brought their arms down over a squealing girl on the last word, trapping her there. She was their captive.

Ben had taught them the game the last time he had come for a visit, which must have been a year or so ago. He was back now, but he wouldn't play with them. He wouldn't tell them what it meant no matter how much they had asked him, but it didn't matter because it was a fun game and it passed the time well. They had only just started playing and it was simply to pass the time between breakfast and tea. He and Jean had been walking across Mr. England's yard arguing again (they seemed to be arguing more and more and they never had any fun together anymore) when the younger children had run up asking them if they would like to play. Matthew had gladly accepted, wanting to end the pointless argument with his brother for at least a little while and enjoy the day, which looked promisingly sunny.

Jean had probably only accepted because everyone else was playing. Except Ben of course who was too old for such games.

It was Edie they had captured to the surprise of no one. She wasn't good at much except growing potatoes and being small. The two of them had to lean over to get their arms around her she was so small and she laughed giddily.

"What is it then?" asked Matthew.

"Oranges or Lemons?" asked Jean.

She giggled some more and tapped her chin like she was thinking. Matthew adored Edie, but he wasn't sure how Jean felt about her. After a moment's careful consideration she whispered loudly, "Oranges."

Matthew smiled. Yes! "That's me!" he said cheerfully.

Instantly the little girl's smile disappeared. She shook her head. "No," she said. "I change my mind, I pick Lemons."

"You can't do that!" he protested.

"That plus people know who is who now," Jean said throwing his arms up in the air. His English was pretty good seeing as he had only been under England's control for about a decade now. Matthew was still more fluent, but to be fair he hadn't spent as much time in France as Jean had.

"Edie, that's not fair," said Anée from her spot on the grass. She was the oldest of the girls and a bit more mature than Jean and Matthew were. She had already lost, probably because she really didn't care about the game, and was put on Jean's team but she didn't act like she was still in the game. Currently she was fooling around with Kumajirou and Tama's husky Frosh. "You don't get to pick, that's not how the game works."

"But I want to be with Lower Canada." She latched herself onto Jean.

He pushed her off a bit too harshly. "I told you not to call me that! It's Jean, or better yet Quebec. Lower Canada is demeaning."

Finn glared at Jean. "Watch it." He was protective of little Edie like an older brother should be, but his young freckled face was anything but intimidating.

Jean ignored him.

"You need to learn to respect your elders, Prince Edward Island," he continued. "You too Nova Scotia," he said to Finn.

"I said watch it. Do you want me to hit you?"

"_Ferme ta gueule idiot ecossaise._"

"What the hell did you just say?"

"Boys, please, you're scaring Edie."

"_Ferme ta bouche, _New Brunswick. You have no authority over me or anyone. You're weak; you can't even decide between France and that idiot l'Angleterre."

"How dare you!"

Matthew tried to intervene before things got out of control. "Jean, you're being ridiculous."

"_Ferme ta bouche!_"

"Sorry."

The argument continued in multiple languages around him and Matthew just stood awkwardly looking at his feet. This always happened. Jean was just getting so unreachable. They were all growing apart and had been for the longest time. Now that he thought about it, it all started back when Rupert split apart. And the siblings he split into, Alberta, Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Yukon, were all deeply despised by Quebec.

Maybe, there had been something between Jean and Rupert?

Or maybe Jean was just crazy. It had been said on multiple occasions by multiple people, nation and colony.

"Alfred was right," he said quietly. "You are crazy."

The others fell silent and Jean turned around slowly. "_Que?_"

Matthew swallowed and looked up at his brother defiantly. "I said–"

"_J'ai entendu ce que vous avez dit!_" he shouted. "Why are you talking to _l'Amerique? _I told you don't! He's an English pig!" Jean's accent had gotten stronger as it tended to do when he got angry and his English was getting strangled.

"N-no he's not. He's our brother and he's my friend."

"_Il n'es jamais mon frére!_"

Matthew took a step back. Jean was getting really angry now. "Jean, calm down."

"_Ferme. Ta. Bouche._ Now get out of my sight you disgrace."

There was nothing at this point that he could say to calm his brother down, so instead he turned and walked away like Jean had told him too-Jean was right there in his face grabbing his shirt front and shouting, "_Menteur_!" His face had gone red with rage. Matthew had only ever seen this once and it hadn't ended well. Why had he said that? He knew better that to say something like that when his brother was this angry.

But Matthew was angry too. Jean had no right to do this to them all the time. He knew the boy was lonely, but Matthew had always been right at his side and they used to be more than brothers, more than friends. What had happened to that? Still, he was angry. So with all of the willpower he could muster he spat out-arm dug into his throat. The brick wall against his back was cold and hard, but Jean showed no signs of pulling back.

Okay, so that had been the wrong thing to say, but he hadn't known that. He promised never to make that mistake again. All he could feel now was fear, the anger had subsided and he made himself look Jean in the eyes. Violet to violet. Face to face. Canada to Canada.

He swallowed around the arm and licked his lips. "Jean," he said. "_S'il te plait. _What happened? Why are you like this?" He dropped his gaze as tears of pain and frustration filled his eyes. "This isn't what Maman wanted."

Jean's eyes widened and then rage took him again. He shouted so loudly that Matthew thought he would go deaf in one ear as he turned his face away and closed his eyes. "Don't you ever talk about her!" he cried.

With another shout he-hit the ground hard. The others shrieked, but none of them stopped Jean or made any move to help Matthew. There was a moment of shock where he couldn't move at all and then Matthew forced himself to back up against the building. Jean towered over him, knife in hand and looking as menacing as Matthew had ever seen him.

The blade glinted in the late-morning sunlight as Jean advanced. It was a good blade, handcrafted in Paris and specially made. It had a leather handle, flat on one side, and a double-edged blade so that it would fit better in the sole of his custom leather shoe. France had given the shoes to him as a gift. Defense against the English he had told him. Matthew had gotten a pair like them only darker, but he ended up leaving them in his old bedroom in France due to some complications in the war.

Jean was right in front of him now. He got on one knee so he was almost eye to eye with his brother, just a little bit taller. He leaned forward and said quietly but with just as much menace, "Take it back."

Matthew muttered something too quietly for either of them to hear. Terror had taken hold and he wasn't in control. So he sat there, sitting up against the wall of some random building waiting for-brought his hand up fast, the knife pointed up at an angle.

"Jean!" shouted one of the girls.

It didn't stop him. The knife landed without a sound. Not one that they heard anyways. Even if it did make a sound they couldn't hear it over the bloodcurdling scream of the other boy and the blade disappeared between his ribs, deep into his flesh and

Matthew opened his eyes. There was a brief moment where confusion held him, but he quickly shook it off and his heart slowed down. He had to blink a few times in the sharp light of the afternoon. The clouds had broken up a bit and were now only tiny wisps of something that marred the deep blue of the sky. The sunlight felt warm on his face and beneath him the grass was soft and cool.

For a little while he simply stared up at the unmoving clouds and felt immense pleasure. Then he turned to look beside him to see if he was still there. Matthew had to squint in the sunlight because the sun was right where he was looking, but he could make out the shape of a face, with closed eyes and a slightly open mouth. The chest rose and fell lightly as he slept.

Matthew felt bad for waking him, but he needed to feel him so he reached out and took hold of the hand that was lying on the hill beside him. The movement seemed to wake him and his eyes opened a little and turned his way sleepily.

"_Mathieu?_" he asked softly.

Matthew turned to look back up at the sky and closed his eyes to the light. "_Desole_," he replied in a whisper. "I just needed to know you were still there."

"Where would I go?" The hand in his tightened and Matthew couldn't help but smile to himself at the squeeze.

They lay in silence for a while. But then something began to bother Matthew. It wasn't a fly, there weren't any yet, it was only early spring (even though the weather was unseasonably warm). So what was it? There it was again. He turned to the other and said quietly, "Hey."

The eyes didn't open, but there was still an answer. "Hm?"

"Do you hear that?"

The face turned his way and frowned a bit. Not much though, only a bit. "Hear what?"

"It's probably just my imagination, but I could swear I hear someone screaming."

Matthew felt him rub his hand softly with his thumb. "I don't hear anything."

Silence. "There it is again. Don't you hear it?"

"Non."

His eyes had closed again and he looked like he was about to fall asleep. Or already had.

He looked so peaceful. So beautiful.

Matthew looked back up at the sky and sighed. "I could swear I heard something."

"Go back to sleep."

"Okay." Matt closed his eyes. "Good night, Jean."

There was a sigh. "Good night, _Mathieu._"

The pain rode in waves through his skin and he couldn't seem to stop screaming. Blood was gushing out of the wound now that he'd pulled the knife out, which turned out to be a horrible mistake as the blade was the only thing keeping the blood in. Red spread out across his shirt and began to get on his pants as well.

The girls were screaming too, but none of them came to help him. A couple of the boys had grabbed Jean by the arms and pulled him back a ways, but none of them helped him.

He fumbled at the cut to try and staunch the flow of blood, but it just oozed out between his fingers and now they were stained red as well. The cobblestones beneath him were cold and hard and now they were slippery as well. Wasn't anyone going to help him?

No. Of course they wouldn't. Because out of all eleven of them he was the one they all hated. Even though Jean was the one with a knife in his shoe. Jean was the one with a quick, fiery temper. Jean was the one who hated everyone and everything since the beginning of time. Jean was the one who had bloody stabbed him. Even when he was doing the deed the others had called out Jean's name instead of Matthew's. Even though Matthew was the one in trouble. It didn't make sense. It should have been his name they called out.

Not Jean's.

He tried to stand up, but he slipped on the blood and ended up falling back against the wall, hitting his head hard-on his shoes and in his hair. He tried to wipe it away frantically, but there was still blood on his hands and gushing out of his chest. If anything he made it worse. He looked up at his siblings.

All of the were either staring with wide eyes at him or at Jean. Some of them were shouting at him, Jean not Matthew. Tamma was holding Edie, pressing her face into the skirt of her floral dress and closing her own eyes in fear and disgust. Finn was standing with his back to Matthew shouting his head off at-running up the path back to Mister England's estate, her dress billowing out at the back and looking endlessly important to Matthew. He stared at it, it's blueness among all the grey there in London. Even the sky was grey. It was starting to rain too like the world was weeping for Matthew.

The raindrops stung. There was nothing he could do but sit there. His head felt heavy like it was filled with air and his vision was pulsing as his heart pumped the life out of him. He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't-running at full speed behind Anné down the path with Ben trailing after him, only jogging. Why didn't they-hurry. Oh please, oh please just hurry. It's getting hard to hear anything. Everything looks dark. I'm scared. England, please help. I think he might do it again if they let him go. Don't let them let him go ever or he'll do it again and I'll die. Please don't let me die. My mouth won't work and I can't move my arms anymore. All I can hear is the bloody clock tower ticking. It's almost noon. I can't die before noon, I haven't had lunch yet. Just please-hurts. Put me back down, it hurts to be carried like this. Especially when you're running. But the thing is it doesn't actually hurt anymore, but it should. There's a hole in my chest, so shouldn't it hurt? Why doesn't it-almost over. The bells have started to go. If it gets to twelve it will be noon. Here they come. One bell. Two bells. Three bells. Four bells. Five bells. Six bells. Oh.

And I almost made it too.

~o~

Canada woke up. His back hurt and the softness beneath him was too hot. So was the softness on top of him. He pushed off the sheets only to be met with a cold that made him scramble to grab them back. He held them at his chin and forced himself to open his eyes. Light was pouring into his room, but it looked like it was starting to fade. But, no, this wasn't his room. These weren't his sheets or his bed or his window or his light.

Everything was a different colour and in different places and different shapes than what he had back in his room. So who's room was this? He looked around to try and get some ideas. This must have been a guest room because there was nothing he could see that pointed to any one person. The walls were a pale yellow, a dresser across from him with a TV on top was a dark wood to match the bed and side tables. And also that chair next to the bed. It was dark wood as well, but unlike everything else in the room it had an occupant.

England was sitting slumped over in the chair, chin resting on his chest and bright green eyes closed to the world. On the table next to him there was a book that the Brit must have been reading. There was also a bowl of water with a rag, and a thermometer. Were they for Matthew? Probably. He felt fairly light-headed and he was so tired and so sickly. There was a cold sweat on his back right between the shoulder blades and more was dampening his forehead. God, he felt awful.

He let his head fall back onto the pillow and sighed. His eyes felt so heavy. All he wanted to do was sleep and try not to think of who had changed him into these pajamas.

But before sleep could overtake him there was a sound from Arthur. The man had woken up and was now stretching his arms. He looked down at the younger nation. "Oh, good, Matthew you're awake," he said through a yawn. "Francis said it wouldn't be long now.

"Francis was here?" Matthew asked.

"Mm-hm. So was Alfred. They went to get something for us to eat. I hope it's not fast-food." He leaned over and felt Matthew's forehead. "Hm. Your fever isn't going down anymore. You were worse before," he added withdrawing his hand and wiping it absently on his shirt. "We couldn't get you to wake up, it's been days. The frog said you woke up a while ago and talked to him, but you didn't seem to recognize him. He said you called him by a different name."

England grabbed the rag and soaked it in the bowl. He squeezed out some of the water before folding the cloth carefully and reaching over to put it on Matthew's forehead. It felt very good. "Do you remember that? Waking up I mean?" England continued.

Canada closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "No, I don't. What did I call him?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea. He wouldn't tell me." He sat back in the chair and closed his own eyes. He put the heel of his hand to his forehead like he was thinking hard and then he opened his eyes again to look back at his charge. "How do you feel?"

"Awful. What happened?"

"Well, as it turns out, Quebec is a little more conniving than you thought. After taking out you prairie province he went for your other one, farther east. British Columbia I think it was. Wasn't too hard since he had it surrounded anyways. _And_ because you didn't have anyone defending it. What were you thinking? Why didn't you tell someone earlier? Matthew? Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm just tired."

"That's no great surprise. As well as losing more than half of your land, even if there weren't that many people in most of it, your economy is also down the toilet. Quebec is cutting you off of all of your major exports and has managed to get one of your other prairie provinces to agree to a treaty. I doubt it will go through, but you're at great danger of losing another province to that French con artist." England sighed. "I'm sorry about that by the way. I should have listened to you."

"It's not your fault."

"Well, I'm at least partially responsible. We could have snuffed this out decades ago had I listened. And why didn't I? It was obvious what was going on."

"In hindsight yes. But at the time I don't think either of us really believed it. I know my Prime Minister didn't. It was his call, mainly." Matthew could feel himself fading into sleep again. Arthur seemed to notice.

He smiled softly and said, "Let's forget about that for now. Go back to sleep and we'll talk about this with the others when you're a bit better, okay?"

"Okay," Matthew agreed. Arthur was treating him like a colony instead of a full-grown nation, but it didn't matter because Canada was already asleep.

He woke up later. He wasn't sure how much later, but all three members of his family were in the room. They were arguing and being loud about it too. Arthur was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room looking beaten and guilty and Francis and Alfred were screaming their heads off at him about something or other. Their shouting hurt his head and the pale light from the windows hurt his eyes.

Matthew put his hands over his eyes to block out the light and groaned. He felt terrible and tired and sore all over. He also felt oddly lopsided and he couldn't hear very well. Immediately the shouting stopped and they all turned to look at him. England stood up and walked over slowly. He knelt down next to the bed and began to talk softly and calm to Canada explaining whatever they had been fighting about. France added something that America didn't seem to like and he voiced the dislike loudly. England turned to berate him for it and soon the three of them were launched into another argument.

Matthew fell asleep.

He woke up again briefly. France was sitting beside him on the edge of the bed, England in the chair and America was standing on the other side. They were all watching the news on the TV across from the bed. The picture was of a bomb going off somewhere in Saskatchewan. The newscaster was talking, but Canada could only hear bits and pieces and it all sounded very subdued.

He heard, "…everything they can to… Jessup assures that the risk… arrived in Saskatoon… fleeing across the border… eleven o'clock… British Columbia… German forces…" Blah blah blah blah blah. It all made no sense to his foggy brain. He was too tired to care. All there was to do was sleep.

Fire. Flames licked up the sides of the building and the heat of it felt good. He stood in the courtyard. There was no one but him there and he grinned as he watched the Whitehouse burn. Against the black sky and background the flames stood out and glowed. There was nothing overhead and nothing beyond the courtyard and the flaming building. Everything else was black.

It was a beautiful sight to see and Canada's wide violet eyes took it all in with a hungry fascination. A wind started and bits of ash began to snow down on him, filling his hair with their pureness and coating his eyelashes prettily. He didn't even notice that the fire was getting closer, crawling across the ground towards him, heating his skin to an unbearably wonderful degree.

But the most beautiful thing about it was the flag that still danced on top of the flagpole despite the fire that consumed it so gracefully. The red and white surrounded by brown singed cloth. The maple leaf at the centre was still clearly visible.

As the Parliament buildings burned Canada was showered in ash and sparks. They felt so warm and good on his frozen skin that he didn't bother moving. But then a wayward spark hit it's target, Matthew's left shoulder, and began to spread. Starting at his collarbone the heat moved down and to the side to his armpit and then it burst. His skin lit on fire and spread quickly across his body until he was burning alive. It was a fire that he could not see, but he could feel it and it hurt like hell.

And then something happened to the fire. It became invisible spiders made of fire that he still couldn't see. They crawled all over him, leaving tiny fiery footprints everywhere they touched him. Then they began to burrow, traveling into his skin where they began to crawl again, tickling and itching and burning him from the inside out.

Now Matthew moved. He scratched and swatted at the little invisible spiders beneath his skin and squirmed and shook and took a step back. In his step he tripped and fell backwards into a pile of ash that had been gathering behind him since the Whitehouse had begun to burn.

The ash billowed up around him as he fell and fell and fell and never landed. It flew up around him becoming the sky and everything else around him. He continued to fall through the snow and he squirmed and panicked and thrashed as much as he could to try and get the fire spiders out. They hurt so much and though it didn't show at all his skin began to set alight again. The fire consumed him entirely and invisibly, but the spiders kept crawling around inside of him.

Get out get out get out get out! It hurts! Stop it!

One of the spiders was biting his shoulder and another had sunk its teeth into his ankle. They all bit him all over sending a fiery poison through his veins lighting his whole body and agony. It hurt so much he couldn't move. He went stiff then limp and kept on falling endlessly.

Finally he landed. It was in snow so white that he couldn't see where it stopped and the sky began. Now that he wasn't falling the snow he had been falling with landed on his face, soothing the angry arachnids and putting out the fire. Little by little he regained his ability to move. But he didn't. He didn't want to. It was too nice just lying in the snow.

The fire on the outside had calmed and gone out, but the fire the spiders had put into his veins was still there burning passionately. It still hurt, just not as much. All of the spiders in his back were gone and there were only a few still in his chest and face. The snow licked his forehead and covered his legs and arms entirely. It was so nice that he wanted to fall asleep.

A lone spider bit his shoulder and he smacked it.

_"God damn it Matt, we're trying to help, just hold still…"_

The sky above him was so white that it was nearly blinding. The snow drifted down onto his naked skin and cooled him so well he thought he might freeze. But he didn't. Snowflakes soaked his hair and he sighed happily. It was so, so nice. He wanted to fall asleep in it. So he did. And he dreamed.

_The sky became dark. The silence became noise. The snow became icy water in a bathtub. People bustled around him. Alfred was there holding a soaked cloth and dripping the water onto Matthew's forehead. He looked upset._

_ Francis was in the room too, pacing back and forth until Alfred snapped at him to stop._

_ Arthur entered carrying towels. He handed them to France who set about unfolding them and putting them on the floor by the tub. "Is he getting better?"_

_ "I don't think so. Sh*t he's awake."_

_ Francis appeared next to Alfred and looked into Matthew's eyes. He grabbed someone's hand that Matthew vaguely realized was his own and began speaking in rapid French that for the life of him Matthew couldn't understand._

_ "Speak English, for Christ's sake!"_

_ "Sorry. Mathieu? Mathieu, can you hear me? Are you alright? Please say something. Tell me you're alright."_

_ Why? Was Matthew sick or something? "It's okay," he reassured them. "It's only a dream. I'll wake up soon."_

_ "He's delusional."_

_ "He's burning up. L'Angleterre, go get some more ice!"_

_ "It's going to be okay, Matt. It'll be okay."_

_ "You idiot, he can't know what you mean by that!"_

_ "Well, it can't hurt can it? Hey. C'mon Matt stay with me. Stay with me Matt."_

_ "Matthew? Matthew, say something."_

_ "Mathieu?"_

~o~

"Hey Matt… Mattie! Yoo-hoo!"

Hm? What? Canada's eyes blinked open. All he could see was America's face looming in his vision. The room behind him was brightly lit and it gave his brother's face some frighteningly dark shadows. But as soon as he saw that Matthew's eyes were open Alfred sat back.

Matt sat up and put his head in his hands. He felt really heavy and his mind was still swimming with weird dreams. But he felt a lot better than he had the last few times he'd woken up here. Wherever "here" was.

"What happened?" he asked his brother.

The chair had been dragged over to sit facing the bed so Al could talk directly to him. "Dude, we totally thought you were gonna die. You were so out of it you were like… I don't even know; it was scary." He was laughing nervously and it made Matt feel uncomfortable. So had that not been a dream? "But you look a lot better now and your fever's gone down and everything so Arty says your gonna be fine now. Oh! Hey, I think Francey-pants wanted to see you." He turned to face the closed door on the other side of the room and shouted, "Hey, Francis, Mattie's up! He'll be here in a second."

"Um, okay."

After a minute or two the door opened slowly and France backed in carrying a tray with a bowl on it. He brought it over and set it down on Matthew's lap. "I thought you might be hungry," he explained. In the bowl there was soup and just the sight of it made Matthew's stomach rumble greedily. It was still steaming.

"Thanks," was all he could manage to say before he could no longer restrain himself. He dug in and ate as quickly as he could. How long had it been since he'd eaten? Breakfast on the day of the meeting he supposed and who knew how long ago that meeting had been. But despite his massive hunger he found that he could only eat most of the soup and a bit of the toast that had been with it before it threatened to come back up again and he was forced to let the rest be taken away.

With his stomach full his eyes felt immediately heavy and all he wanted was to sleep. But he couldn't because France had only just come in and it would have been rude.

The older nation smiled knowingly and said, "I do not mind if you sleep, _mon petit lapin._ You are tired and you must rest."

Canada smiled thankfully and settled back into the blankets. It was so comfortable and he was so tired and France had just closed the blinds making the room dim nicely. But he couldn't sleep. Something was bothering him. Alfred had left with the tray and it was Francis's turn to sit in with Matthew. He was in the chair, leaning back with his eyes closed.

"Papa?" Canada asked.

France looked over at him, ready to jump into action. "Oui?"

"Could you…" He blushed at the request. Thank God the lights were off. "Could you sit with me?"

He smiled and stood up. He walked around to the other side and climbed on top of the bed. He lay back and put an arm around Matthew that the younger leaned into sleepily. They lay like that for quite some time. It was comfortable and with the door closed Matt didn't have to worry about Alfred coming in and teasing him about being babied like this. He fell asleep.

The next few times he woke up were quite the same. It would be some random time of the day or night and someone would be waiting with fresh food that they assured him England had not cooked. They might talk for a while and then Matthew would fall back to sleep. Every time he woke the person in the room would have changed. Sometimes it was one of them and sometimes it was all three and as they talked Matthew found out that he was still in Florida.

Apparently they hadn't wanted to ship him back to Canada in his state so they stuck him I a guest room in Al's extensive winter home by the beach. Once when he was feeling particularly active Matthew had gotten over to the window and looked out to see a shiny white beach with rolling waves and a good deal of tourists sunning themselves or having fun in the surf.

But anyways he kept waking up and there would always be someone there waiting for him. Until one day. He woke up about mid-morning and he was alone. The blinds were open letting in the light into the room and Matthew quickly discovered that it was impossible to go back to sleep. So after a lot of tossing and turning he got up.

There was a bathroom attached to his room and he decided that he was getting too disgusting and needed a shower. He washed the oil and sweat out of his hair with hot water and shampoo that smelled like strawberries and then stepped out into a very fluffy bathrobe. There were clothes in the dresser and they turned out to be just his size. It was just some jeans and a plain white t-shirt, but after spending God knew how long in bed in sweaty pajamas it was a miraculous transformation.

His legs were tired, but Matt wanted to know where the others were and since he was dressed already he went downstairs. It was slow-going, but he made it after lots of rests and leaning heavily on the railing. Once he was at the bottom he could hear voices coming from a room off to his right. A living room he decided. He shuffled quietly over to the doorway and peered in carefully.

Alfred and Arthur were sitting on a sofa, one leaning back and the other sitting forward anxiously. Francis was sprawled out over a loveseat opposite them and they were having what seemed to be a very important conversation.

Then France stopped mid-sentence and looked up, directly at Canada who was now fully in the doorway. The others turned in their seats to see what he was looking at. America smiled. England did not. He waved Matthew in and over to an unoccupied recliner. Matthew obeyed nervously and sat down.

They were all looking at him oddly and none of them were talking. After a silence that only seemed to be awkward to Canada, England decided to speak. "Canada," He said, very formally, "I know you've only just woken up, but I think it's about time you tell us all what's really going on."

Hey thar!

Longest chapter yet and in record time too! Which is actually very surprising because I was away for three nights with a concert and a social thingy. We take our concerts and social thingies very seriously here as you can tell. But yeah, I blame it on dream sequences for being so much fun to write. And by the by they're confusing because I made them that way. No dream is entirely straightforward especially when it's brought on by fevers and memories.

All the Translations!:

_Ferme ta gueule idiot ecossaise – _Shut up you Scottish idiot

_Ferme ta bouche, tu confond la disgrace – _Shut up you confused discrace

_J'ai entendu ce que vous avez dit – _I heard what you said

_Il n'es jamais mon frére – _He was never my brother

_Menteur – _Liar

Everything else is pretty easy to translate. If I got anything wrong and you know what it really is (Quebecois French please, there is a difference) then let me know and I'll fix it if I can. Same with English spelling errors.

D0 n0t 0wn Hetalia 0_0 sh0cking I kn0w


	15. Chapter 14: The Mistletoe Bride

**Chapter 14**

The Mistletoe Bride

~o~

"In 1980 there was a Referendum. What it was, was whether or not Quebec should separate. Fortunately the vote ended up against it and everything was fine. Only… it started something. The separatists were outraged and they got angry. In 1984 there was a second Referendum of the same issue. This time the vote was close. It was in favour of Quebec staying a part of me, but this vote only won by less than one percent. Again the separatists were mad, but this time there were more of them.

"Something began. They started to gather in Montreal and they formed some sort of group or party or something. But it wasn't like the Parti Quebecois or the Bloc Quebecois that had fought for separation. They wanted it more. They were rebels. Their protests were small enough that the government didn't even know they were happening, but enough to get the attention of the francophone people. More and more people joined and they became a sort of secret society. The government was completely unaware of their existence. But I knew. I could feel them like a swarm of bees in my gut and I knew they were bad news.

"I tried to warn someone. I told my Prime Minister and anyone with any standing that would listen. I even told Arthur. But of course none of them believed me. They all thought that if anything did happen they could stop it before it got out of hand. They thought that we were in no real danger. I wasn't too concerned either to tell you the truth. But I could feel them and I could feel that the group was starting to grow. At first it was only a little, very slowly. But more and more important people began to take part including the former leaders of the separatist parties. In a few years they were a group of thousands and small protests and speeches were no longer enough. They wanted to get what they'd been trying to for so long. Their chance came in the form of a certain rebel general of the Royal Canadian Army, Maxime Gallhager."

"We know about all that," Alfred interrupted. "Iggy told us days ago. What I don't get is how it got so damn big."

"I'm getting there," Matthew assured him. "The thing is, it turned out that separatists didn't exist only in Quebec. People from all over my land flocked to Montreal and joined the rebel group. Pretty soon they had a veritable army. It took them a while though. It was only a few years ago that they had enough to be a risk to my populace and to my Government itself. My army after all… isn't very impressive in terms of size, especially after a good many of them left to join the rebel group. Anyways, three years ago the leaders of the group got together and traveled with an entourage of armed men to my Parliament buildings where they demanded and received an audience with my Prime Minister.

"They threatened to attack if they did not get independence and take their independence by force. Jessup knew that if they did then even if we won the death toll would be way too high. He would never be re-elected if we won a war so brutally. If we lost than his prospects would be far worse and he and I might face execution."

"So the whole thing was just about his sorry *ss getting into office again? The murderous b*st*rd! We should–"

"Alfred please, let him finish."

"It's okay. I know he was being selfish, but despite his reasons the decision was the right one to make. If I had gone to war with the people of Quebec my economy would have collapsed and I could die whether we won or not. Quebec was my chief source of exports and if they retained the goods without my government having some sort of back-up plan or being prepared in some way then I would get so sick that I might not make it. So he agreed to their demands for 'freedom' with as little conflict as possible and we were assured that no harm would come to my people or my land.

"They also promised that the Bloc Quebecois had nothing to do with the group, but almost as soon as they were out of my control the people of Quebec held an election and Monsieur Duceppe, the former head of the Bloc was voted in. I'm not entirely certain why he was chosen or why he did what he did, but after only a few months he came to my Prime Minister asking for money. It turned out that Quebec wasn't quite ready for independence and they had no way to maintain an economy.

"Quebec was still living at my house at the time so it wasn't difficult for him to bother me about money on a daily basis. We were able to make a deal. My government would take care of Quebec financially as it had been before they separated and they would supply us with the goods we no longer possessed. It worked out well. His government was able to set up connections with other nations and started making its own money. He was able to move out and we continued our funding at a much lower level.

"But something happened. The deal went through and Quebec cut himself off from me entirely. He took Newfoundland with him to his new home so I was cut off from him too. I'm not even sure why Newfoundland separated, but I know Quebec had something to do with it. There was no word from him for a while, but after a few months Jean showed up at my home demanding I give him more land. I didn't and, well, you know the rest."

"Wait, wait, wait," Alfred said, putting up his hands to keep the others quiet. "Okay, it all makes sense, sort of, but when the hell did Newfoundland come into this?"

Matt sighed. "Right, sorry. Shortly after Quebec separated there was talk in Labrador. Labrador has always wanted equal status as Newfoundland, but they've never actually done anything about it. But then they did. Something happened, though, and somehow it went from equality to separation and they planned on taking B-Newfoundland with them. I've suspected that the Quebecois government had some hand in this, but I've never had any proof. Not that it would matter. They had the vote anyways. It came out in favour of separation and there they were.

"They both had to stay with me for a while, though, because they were in no way ready to be independent. I think Jean may have swayed them to go with him using money and promises. He called it a deal. I called it bribes. In any case, Labrador was more than happy to join, but the people of Newfoundland were not quite so abiding. They revolted. Newfoundland got sick, really sick. When he got to his worst Quebec made his move. He took Newfoundland and his land and he… he faded again. It was because of Quebec of course. He cut him off from his government."

"But Matt," Alfred said confused. "I still don't get why _your_ economy got so bad?"

"I told you," Matthew explained patiently. "The only way I kept it going was through the deal I had with Quebec, but when he cut himself off I lost everything. There was just not enough to sell. There wasn't enough wheat in the prairie provinces to keep the money going, especially not after all of those droughts and heat waves." He paused. He sneezed. He continued. "So when he came back and demanded more compensation for all of his 'years of suffering' I had to tell him that I didn't have anything else. So he suggested something else.

"Jean wanted land. He said it would be just as good, but with my economy so bad I had to keep every bit of land I could to get as much money as possible. He promised that if I gave him independence he wouldn't attack, but he lied. Independence wasn't enough as it turned out. He began with the Maritimes, which I was already mostly cut off from by him and Newfoundland. I was powerless against it, I just couldn't get any forces out there in time. And then he started going after the others… Sh*t, I just don't know what happened. Half of my army deserted: most to join Quebec, but the rest I have no idea. Everything just fell apart so quickly."

Matthew put his head in his hands and sighed. The others didn't say anything because really what was there to say? They watched as Matt sat up a bit to lean his chin on his fists.

"Prussia found out," he said, deciding that he might as well keep going. "He promised to help, but I guess he just didn't have the power. He kept saying that he would talk to his boss, but when it came to it he said that his boss refused. I kept pressing him, but he just kept saying it. I don't know, but I think he was lying. I don't know why though."

"Matt," Alfred interrupted again. "That guy is no good. You should never trust a word he says. That f*cker is a liar and a cheat and he deserves whatever he gets."

Canada looked up, confused. "What do you mean? Has something happened?"

"You've been asleep for a very long time Mathieu," Francis put in. "A lot has happened while you were away."

"Matthew, when Prussia said he couldn't help you, what exactly did he say?"

Matthew thought about it for a moment. Remembering gave him a bit of a headache. "He just said that his boss wouldn't let him. I don't know, I can't remember."

England stood up and walked over to stand next to his former-colony. "Think hard. Did he say anything about alliances? About other offers?"

"What are you saying? No. No, he didn't say anything like that. You know, maybe I should call him again. Maybe he could convince his boss of something."

Alfred stood up then, looking angry and stubborn. "What? Matt! He's not helping, for Christ's sake! You've been asleep, you haven't been dead!"

England shot America a scathing glare, but the younger nation only sat back down, scowling, and crossed his arms defiantly. The Brit turned back to his other "son" and put a hand on his arm. Canada looked up, getting more confused by the minute. "While you've been away have you felt anything odd? Any attacks? Any confrontations? Anything at all?"

"I haven't been feeling much of anything lately," Matthew replied. It was true. Even now he could only vaguely feel the presence of his population and land. It was like his connection was getting fuzzy and no matter what he tried it just wouldn't become any more defined. "Why? What am I supposed to be feeling?"

Arthur didn't reply, he only looked down at the floor and cursed quietly.

France leaned forward on his elbows. He looked incredibly concerned all of a sudden. "Two hours ago Quebec launched an attack on your last prairie province. Its still happening."

"But, why don't I feel that? Shouldn't I feel something then?"

"That's the freaking problem, Matt," Alfred said through gritted teeth.

"Wait did you say "last prairie province"?"

"Oui."

"When did he get the other one? Oh. Right, asleep, right. God. That means that all that's left is Ontario." Then it hit him, full on and without warning. The realization of what this meant for him, for Quebec. The mental anguish that he had been storing away in his mind for over a year and the discovery that he knew what was going to happen next. "Oh my God," he whispered. "O-oh my God. Am I… dying? Oh my God oh my God. What do I do? What am I supposed to do?"

America shot up out of his seat and stumbled over to crouch next to Canada's chair, where the younger brother was beginning to full-on panic. "Sh*t, Matt, calm down. We can help. We can save you. You're not gonna die. Come on, Matt, calm down."

"But what can you do?" Matthew asked staring at his brother earnestly. "You said it yourself. If anyone could beat him it would be me and look at what a mess I've made."

"Believe me, I've been in stickier situations. I'm the world screw up, but I've managed to get out of every jam and now look at me!" He sat back and held out his arms to the sides. "Healthy, strong," he leaned forward again and said right in his brother's ear, "_alive_. We can beat this thing together. The four of us. We can kill him."

"Wait," Matthew said. "Al, I know he's done some awful things and I know it's our best bet, but is there any way we can do this… _without_ killing him?"

It was obvious that Al was trying desperately not to lose his cool as he said, "Matt, we have to. A country can't stand without a representation. You know it can't, it's never been done before. You've gotten in too deep, this is the only way we can win this war."

"There has to be some other way. There are four of us right? Can't we beat him without destroying him? Just let me talk to him."

America ran a hand through his hair, losing his cool quickly. "Matt. What the f*ck do you think this is? We need to get you out in the fastest way possible. You're so far gone you can't even feel your country anymore. Why won't you let us do this?"

"I just…" Canada looked down at his hands and frowned. "I don't want to lose him again."

"F*ck!" America lost it. He slammed his hands down on the armrest of Canada's chair and stood to his full height. "Open your eyes, Matt!" he shouted. "You lost him a long time ago! I've told you before and I'll tell you again, I don't care what you think anymore. That guy is dead for what he did you and if it isn't what you want then get the hell out of here. You couldn't beat him, but we can because I think the only reason he beat you was because you were too much of a coward to actually do anything about this!"

"No!" Matthew shout-whispered, standing up and matching his brother's height. "I was never ever a coward. You want to know why I couldn't do anything? Why I was trapped? He was me for one hundred years and during that time a lot of f*cking things happened! And do you know what happens when there's someone in you who was never supposed to be there? He never goes away! He lived through everything with me! We have more than the same face; we have the same memories! I remember things that I never did because when he faded I gained those memories! I can see me dying at my own hands and every night I see that same thing from the other end. Do you know how terrifying that is? To see yourself die and live through it again and again every night? Of course you don't."

He looked around at the three astonished faces watching him throw his arms around and scream in his brother's face. It was embarrassing, but Matt didn't really care. He'd done stupider things in the past while, so he kept going. "He knows every strategy I have," he said a bit quieter. "He knows every plan, every secret and every weapon. He uses them against me and steals them from me and he convinces people that what he's doing is right. He's stolen more people from my military than I've ever had need to use. All that bullsh*t about having troops in the Middle East. I had every troop at my disposal, but turns out more than half of them were Quebecois. I think you can guess what happened. Let me talk to him. One last time. If I can't make him see reason then… Then he's all yours."

There was an unsteady quiet for a moment, all of them watching America to see how he would respond. "Fine," he spat. "One last chance. But then his skinny *ss is ours."

Matt gave an ugly smile. "Deal."

~o~

The house was really big. It was made of gray brickwork and looked absolutely monstrous. Why anyone would need a house this large was a mystery to Matt, but there was no doubt in his mind who owned it.

The first thing he had done was make a phone call to Jean himself. For some reason the young nation sounded rather excited to meet up with his brother and had even sent a car to pick him up. Normally, a car traveling such a distance would have taken days to arrive, but with the help of a nation it took half an hour. By the time they arrived at this impressive structure it was getting gray outside and the sun was resting just above the horizon.

When they pulled up by the front doors there was a man in a uniform waiting for him. The man opened the car door and closed it again once Matthew had stepped out onto the front step. The man then turned and walked through the doorway with the young nation trailing after him.

Canada tried to ignore the shining marble floors, the expensive lighting, the fancy décor and the large portraits of historical figures as he passed them. He needed to focus. This was his last chance to change things without violence and even if he didn't get all or any of his land back at least no nations would die this way. Alfred had made it perfectly clear that if this last-ditch effort didn't work then Quebec would be executed in America's own special way.

The man, a butler he guessed, led him to a large study with hand-carved doors and an expansive and expensive desk. Nothing but the best. The butler let Matt wander into the room and then he closed the doors, sealing him in. Jean wasn't there of course, but Matthew was willing to wait for as long as it took.

He wandered the room, looking at the books and examining the wide-screen TV that was mounted on the wall opposite the desk. Most of the books were relatively valuable, but they were coated in dust, uncared for and unread, probably only bought for the decoration value. Matt used his sleeve to wipe some of the dust off of the spines of a few of the books, scattering the motes and making him sneeze. He sneezed four more times in quick succession before he could catch his breath.

There was a quiet laugh from the other side of the room. Matt turned around. Jean was walking over to his desk, smiling and laughing to himself. The butler was just closing the doors. They must have come in while Matt was sneezing or he would have heard them. Quebec sat down in the large chair behind the even larger desk and leaned back with a sigh and a quiet giggle. He smiled at Canada. "Well," he said. "Sit down." He waved at a chair the butler had brought in, but not nearly as nice as the one Jean had. Matthew just looked at his brother, he didn't sit down.

Jean looked back at him and chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Fine," he spat. "You know I do have other things on my agenda, you're not my only life goal."

"I'm sorry," Canada threw back rather angrily. "Am I interrupting something important?"

"I like to think so, but I'm willing to put it on hold for a chance to converse with you one last time."

Matthew didn't respond preferring instead to wander closer to the desk and glance at a few of the papers laying on it. Quebec's desk wasn't very well kept and judging by the massive television and the amount of dust on the books in the bookshelves he didn't use this room for official matters very much. Jean caught the glance however and he quickly, but nonchalantly swept all of the papers off of the desk and into a drawer, which he promptly closed and locked.

"So," Jean continued, placing the key into his blazer pocket. "You want a truce."

"I _want_ a cease-fire," Matt retorted. "But you've made it perfectly clear that that's not an option."

"Oui, but if you make me a reasonable offer I am willing to leave the rest of your citizens alive. Wouldn't that be better than all of them being executed for treason?"

"If your idea of a reasonable offer is the rest of my land then don't think I'll be making an offer any time soon." Matthew was already seething with anger just at seeing Jean's face and hearing his voice and he was all too aware that he looked and sounded exactly the same. Minus the accent of course. In fact after so long of not seeing this boy, Matt was surprised how much he had grown in such a short period of time. He was just as tall as Canada himself now and his face was beginning to lose that baby-shape it had always had. There was a brief moment, very brief, when Matthew felt his heart flutter again, but all around the flutter he raged.

He shouted at himself on the inside asking why he still felt anything, why he had come here in the first place. He screamed internally at this boy for killing him so efficiently in so short a time and for making him feel so uncertain of what to do. He pictured himself doing horrible things to Quebec and to himself as well over and over just to get himself riled up so he could find the courage to actually do something. Why was he being so ridiculous? Why couldn't he just take his boy down? He was so small and smug sitting in that chair. They came from the same place, they were two parts of the same person! How could they be so different?

Because Matthew was weak.

Because no one cared what he said and no one listened to him.

The rage subsided so quickly it was like it had never been there and he was left standing in a room with a young boy who was going to squash him like a bug. "Then why _are _you here?"

Canada's eyes searched the room, resting anywhere but on his brother. He suddenly couldn't remember why he had insisted on coming to Quebec or what he was planning on saying. All he knew was that he was tired and he wanted all this to be over. He collapsed onto the chair and leaned on the desk, still avoiding Quebec's intense blue gaze.

"I don't know."

"Then get out," Jean said with a wave of his hand. "I have things to do before tonight."

Matthew finally looked up. Jean wasn't doing anything but staring at him with such malice that Matthew's heart shattered right then and there. "Before I go," he said quietly. "I just want to ask once more. Please call off your forces." It was pathetic, he knew, but this was the last chance he had.

"Why," Jean asked. "Would I do that? I'm winning! Why would I give up when I'm so close to destroying you? Why the hell would I do that, huh?" Matthew opened his mouth to reply, but the question was rhetorical and Quebec was only just getting started. "You had your time! A hundred years I was trapped in that weak body and such a weak mind, but now I'm back! It's my turn! I can be greater than you ever were!" Jeez, he was really getting worked up about this. "I can be so strong and I can be who I've always wanted to be! _Je suis gagner!_ _Tu est perdant! _I have more of a chance now than you did back in our colonial days! I have allies and you have no one!" Allies? "I could kill you right here and right now! Just one phone call is all it takes to wipe Ottawa off the face of the Earth! And why shouldn't I?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Because this is too much fun to watch you squirm," he replied with a cruel grimace. "Your pain makes the waiting worth it. Besides, we have far much more in common than you ever realized. It's only a matter of time before you understand. So tell me. Why should I call them off?"

Matthew held up his hand that had been in his pocket the whole time. Between his thumb and forefinger he held a tiny gold ring. A simple wedding band. "Anniversary gift?"

For the first time Jean paused. His face when blank as he stared at the ring and he wavered slightly in his seat. There was a glint of sweat on his brow and his breathing was uneven and shallow.

Then his hand shot out hitting the ring out of Matthew's grip and sending it flying. Canada watched it as it hit the floor a ways away and rolled out of sight where it hit something with a clatter. When he looked back Jean was no longer sitting but standing behind his desk, fist pulled back and a look of disgust and fury on his face. Then his fist came forward, hitting Matthew in the cheek sending him flying back in his chair. The chair lost balance and fell back onto the floor sending its inhabitant sprawling alongside it.

He coughed and rolled his head back. Blood was pooling in the back of his throat, dripping from the cut on his lip that had come from his teeth slicing through it. He thanked the Lord he didn't have his glasses anymore as they would have either broken or sliced his cheek open. He lifted his head to look at his brother. The younger nation was staring at him murderously, ignoring the old scars on his fist that had reopened and breathing hard.

"_Sortez,_" he muttered. "_Sortez! _Get the f*ck out of here!"

The butler had returned and strode quickly over to where Matthew was lying. He took the nation by the elbow and helped him to his feet and then, still holding tightly to his arm, walked Canada swiftly out of the room. All the way down the hall they could still hear shouting.

Matt noticed that the butler was shaking a little as he walked him to the front door and there was a crease between the man's eyebrows. He was nervous, that much was obvious, but what really unnerved Matthew was that this definitely wasn't a first time occurrence. He wasn't the first person be hit by Jean and definitely not the first to be sent out during a fit of rage.

They reached the door. "Thanks," He said, turning to the butler. The butler grabbed Matt by the shoulder before he could fully turn and spun him round to face the door and with one final look of warning he shoved the nation harshly out the door and slammed it shut behind him. The door clicked as the lock was done and that was that. Matt's short visit was suddenly over and there he was standing on the front porch wondering what the fck just happened? He turned at the sound of a honking horn and realized that the car that had taken him here was waiting for him.

The ride home seemed longer. His desperate attempt at a peaceful resolution was all for naught and now he was going home with his tail between his legs and nothing to show for the time he wasted. And worst of all he had lost the ring. That ring was special to him and now it was gone. He hadn't even meant to bring it with him, he had forgotten it was in his pocket and discovered it was there when he arrived. It wasn't like he had planned for this to happen, but now his spur of the moment idea seemed to be the stupidest thing he could have done. What was he thinking? Jean obviously wasn't in his right mind, that ring could have held any kind of meaning to the young nation. Matthew was stupid for trying.

When he got back to Al's house Matthew took a deep breath, stealing himself for the I told you so's and went in the door. He found his family waiting in the living room talking quietly. America looked peeved, England was trying to calm him down and France just looked nervous. When they heard him come in the all looked up at once, looks of great expectation on their faces.

"Well?" Alfred asked a little harshly.

Matthew looked at them, took another deep breath and said as steadily as he could, "Let's kill the b*st*rd."

So… much… dialogue…

I hope this chapter cleared at least a couple things up for you, maybe, sorta. Did it? If not, I'll try to include it in the next chapter. His visit was shorter than I intended it to be, but meh. It works.

The Mistletoe Bride is a disturbing tale about a bride who plays hide and go seek and ends up getting locked in a chest for five years or so. Good story, you should find it, although, I'm not sure it actually qualifies as a story, it's more of a poem.

Let's go to war! It all begins next chapter so stay tuned and keep reading and commenting. Reviews are my sustenance. O_O

Happy Canada day!

Hetalia is not mine


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